


The Second Law

by Lightning_Strikes_Again



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A healing Lotor learns about earth culture and milkshakes, Continuing into s7 and s8, F/M, Honerva - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Lotor redemption arc, Lotor!whump, Lotura - Freeform, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Possible abuse triggers, Prisoner!Lotor, Rift Creatures - Freeform, S7 and S8 spoilers, Scenes of action/peril, Season 6 Fix-It Fic, Season 6 Spoilers, Slow Burn, Some frightening imagery, Some lightheartedness to break up the angst, Team bonding with Lotor, The whole team appears in this story, Zonerva, character injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 99,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14980796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning_Strikes_Again/pseuds/Lightning_Strikes_Again
Summary: Allura discovers Shiro was not the only person Haggar cloned for insidious purposes. After a strategic battle, she finds the real Lotor imprisoned and barely clinging to life inside a Galra command ship. His existence brings to light an even greater conspiracy than Team Voltron could have imagined possible. (A post-season 6 fix-it fic.)





	1. Chapter 1

One princess Allura of Altea dropped down from the blue lion of Voltron. Her combat boots hit the stone floor hard. She was still breathless from the fight, a small cut bleeding down her temple from where her helmet had shattered upon hard impact. She raised her hand to her temple, dazed. “We did it,” she breathed.

All five lions rested proudly within the Galra command ship—a strategic campaign that now offered them direct access to a replacement ship and central Galra intelligence, as well as one of Haggar’s experimentation labs. It had taken months of planning to carry out the battle.

Haggar and the remaining Galra had activated escape pods and slipped through a wormhole, but Pidge had at least successfully stopped the self-destruct viruses from wiping the entire ship’s mainframe.

The human girl was now actively typing on one of the central command panels. One lens of her glasses was broken, and so she squinted her brown eyes on occasion. “We’ve lost coordinates to other primary flagships and labs,” she said. “But I was able to save shipping routes and locations of quintessence mining and storage facilities.”

Keith stood nearby, taking off his red helmet. His dark hair was matted with sweat, one of his arms stiff from several pulled muscles. He was limping a bit. “Good work, Pidge. Any other kind of self-destruct sequences? Is this ship safe for now?”

“For now,” Pidge said, nodding. She hardly blinked as she continued to fight against the virus. “Allura, can you feel anything weird about the ship?”

The princess pulled her hand away from her temple, and her gloved fingers shined with red blood. “I’m afraid I’m a bit fuzzy right now,” she apologized. “I feel a quintessence field—but it is remaining within the ship. It is likely just a power source and nothing else.”

A smooth, male voice suddenly crackled over their communication frequency. “ _Affirmative,_ ” said Shiro, who was currently located at their base on the planet Olkarion. He sounded tired—which seemed to be a constant emotion for him, even when helping on missions. “ _Coran and I are scanning the ship. Its power is steady—no spikes to suggest a self-destruct sequence_.”

“Good.” Keith exhaled in relief. “Okay, team. Let’s continue to sweep for traps, and if we can button this thing down, then we can take it back with us and use it to build the new Castle of Lions.” He scratched his head. “Maybe make a couple of ships? This one's pretty big." 

In the background, Hunk bent over a counter, pulling out bag after bag. “Ah, guys. Oh, man. This place is like, loaded with food goo. They’ve even got the special flavored packets, like the Yunadian spice flowers and oh—squalia berries.” A tear appeared in his eye. “This is so beautiful.”

Pidge deadpanned, “Try not to short-circuit the computers with your drool, okay?”

Hunk turned and narrowed his eyes playfully. “Hey, if I was gonna drool enough to short out a computer, I’d need at least a ballpark hot dog and the potato salad from that one store on thirty-eighth street back home. If I find that here, then I make no guarantees about the safety of any electronics in a ten-foot radius.”

The girl snorted.

Allura, meanwhile, leaned against a wall. She felt a pulsing headache in her temple from her injury, and she inhaled sharply. Before she could think anything further, a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“Hey,” came Lance’s voice. He moved closer, searching her eyes. “Allura? Are you ok? You took a serious hit back there.”

The entire team paused in their efforts, turning to face her.

“I’m fine,” she said. She gave him a weak but appreciative smile. “Thank you for your concern, Lance. It’s just a scratch.”

He did not seem convinced. “You don’t look fine. I could help you bandage that up,” he offered, almost like a puppy dog eager to please its master. “My sister Veronica is so clumsy all the time, I always had to help her clean up scrapes from falling off her bike. Or we could get a healing pod set up.” And then his face twisted in loss. “Oh, but we don’t have the castle. Right. Well, I could still—”

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “—I am _fine_ ,” she repeated slowly. “I understand more of my people’s healing arts and needed a good excuse to test my abilities anyway.” She tried to smile again. “This little scrape is the perfect opportunity to try something new.” 

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Well. As long as you’re okay.”

Her hand slipped from him. “I will be.”  Then she planted her hand against the wall and closed her eyes. For a brief time, the metal was silent. It quickly began to glow beneath her hand with its residual quintessence. The ship was so large and likely had so much quintessence left that she could purify a small bit and then use it on herself to—

—And then she felt something. Deep within the quintessence, she felt as though a band were snapping. Pain.

Such great pain.

Her eyes rolled up, her knees buckling under the force. Lance’s arms wrapped around her in fright, breaking her fall.

* * *

For a time, she heard nor felt anything. She saw only a blur of shapes until the faces of her teammates came into view, with Lance panicking as he talked over the frequency to Shiro. “Man, I don’t know, she just collapsed, and—”

Allura turned her head with a moan. Above her, Pidge was scanning her with some kind of device.

“Elevated heart rate and blood pressure,” Pidge said worriedly. “Her brain waves are all wonky. That’s a lot of delta waves.”

“Delta waves?” Keith asked, kneeling beside them all.

“The slowest but most amplified brain wave,” Pidge said, pulling away the device. “They’re most active in sleep or the death process.”

“Death?” Lance’s voice raised in a squeak, and his eyes brightened in near-tears. He patted her face. “No, no, no—Allura, don’t go toward the light. Don’t go toward the light. Listen to my voice. Please don’t die. Even if you did steal my face moisturizer, you know I’ve totally already forgiven you and I’ll—”

She moaned.

“If she hit her head that hard during the battle, it’s really important that she doesn’t actually go to sleep,” Pidge’s voice wavered. “We have to wake her up and keep her up.”

“I’ve got it,” Lance said. “The kiss of life. I volunteer myself to make this sacrifice.”

That woke her up. “No.” Allura’s voice was a rasp. Her beautiful face twisted in irritation and amusement, and she dared to open her eyes. “No one is kissing me.”

“Allura!” Lance cried in relief, not evening caring about his lost opportunity to perform mouth-to-mouth. “You’re alive!”

She began to struggle into a sitting position, still holding her head. Lance’s strong hands helped her, and in that moment, she was terribly thankful to lean against him. “I’m not being kissed by anyone,” she said adamantly. “I just….”

And then her memory came back to her. She snapped her eyes open. “The ship,” she breathed. “Something is—its source of quintessence is not right. I felt…well, it was almost like a person.”

Pidge leaned forward, pushing up her broken glasses. “Maybe that explains the weird delta waves you were having?”

Allura realized only then that the cut upon her temple had closed, and that her headache was diminishing, despite the still-sticky blood down her cheek. Deep guilt wracked through her now. “There is very dark alchemy in these walls,” she said tensely, swallowing hard. “The power source is not a usual quintessence storage—it is coming from something alive.”

From over their frequency, another voice—the recently rescued Romelle—cut in. “ _Alteans?_ ” she asked desperately, her voice coated in horror. “ _Are they fueling the ship with our people’s life force? Another colony?_ ”

The princess began to stand with Lance’s help. “I do not know who it is,” she responded. “But I am going to save them.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Lance said, his face in an incredulous twist. “You just had the delta-wave thing. You were bleeding. You don’t need to be saving anyone—you should be, like, resting. Let me go instead.”

“You don’t understand quintessence the way I do,” Allura said, not unkindly. She began to turn around, her vision clearer than ever. She raised her chin and straightened her back. “I’m fine now. And I have to go save them.”

Keith stepped forward “Wait,” he said. “If you disengage whoever or whatever is powering the ship, can we still maintain enough systems to keep it flying?”

Allura searched his eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “But this ship is actively draining someone of their quintessence. I cannot stand by and let them die.”

Keith nodded and turned around. “Coran,” he said over their communication line. “Can the lions take on the load of this ship if it dies?”

There was a pause. “ _It’s going to be a bit of a tight one_ ,” Coran answered, “ _but yes, all five lions should be able to support the ship’s weight and carry it back.”_ Back at the command base on Olkarion, the man twisted his moustache. “ _Getting it to land in this atmosphere is going to be a problem, though. The gravitational pull on something that big will be enough of a smack to make even your Zabluvian intestinal eels feel sick_.”

The black paladin sighed, rubbing his cheek where his Galra stripe had appeared. “We’ll deal with it when we get there, I guess. Can we get ground support to help?”

“ _I’ll see what we can dig up on this planet_ ,” Coran promised. “ _Ryner might have some solutions_.”

Keith turned to them all. It seemed his time with the Blade of Marmora, and his years in the time rift with his mother had made him far more understanding of leadership. His awareness of Shiro’s weakness—the man was just this side of emotionally functional—made him even more motivated to take on the mantle Shiro had bestowed on him. “Ok, guys. Let’s all get to our lions. We’ll need to carry the load on our own until Allura can get back to the blue lion to help us move this thing. Allura, can you free the prisoners by yourself?”

She nodded. “I believe so. Romelle, can you walk me through how to shut down these quintessence harvester pods?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Romelle confirmed. “ _When Keith and his mother found me, we dismantled one back on the second colony_.” Her sweet voice strained. “ _But no one survived long outside the pod_.”

“Then I will be ready to immediately stabilize their quintessence,” Allura promised. “We will not lose anyone this day.”

“Yeah, let’s go save the day,” Hunk cheered. “…Again!”  

The princess began to turn to launch off on her journey into the heart of the ship. But then she stopped herself. “Wait. I do have a question,” she murmured, her sculpted brows furrowing. “If Lotor so desperately wanted to keep the Altean colonies a secret, then why would any Altean prisoners be here powering a major Galra command ship?”

The question hung in the air with no answer.

Romelle offered hesitantly, “ _Perhaps keeping the colonies a secret was yet another lie he told us_.”  

The answer did not satisfy her. “Perhaps.” Allura looked up at the banners hanging through the passageway. They were the same banners Lotor had raised in memory of their fathers’ alliance. Something about seeing them again stung.  

For a brief moment, Allura felt a hard lump in her throat and a burning in her eyes. She quickly swallowed down the yearning she felt for the maniac. He had shown his true colors well enough. The Lotor she had felt affection for had been a carefully devised mask, and so she said, “Yes, you’re right, Romelle. I am sure he lied about many things.” And then she inhaled deeply and said added, “But we will not let his decisions harm one more person.”

* * *

As Allura traversed deep into the ship, the passageway grew darker and darker, with a more ominous void hanging in the air. “These must have been Haggar’s experimentation labs,” she murmured. She briefly touched one of the stones, and it felt cold and slimy, like the back of a snake. She recoiled her hand in disgust. “A layer of pure corruption covers everything here.”

Keith’s voice echoed in her ear. “ _We’re all back in our lions, heading out to support the ship once it goes offline. Are you going to be okay in there?”_

Her blue and purple eyes scanned the passageway. “Yes,” she said distantly. “The power is gone—what remains are the shadows. But if we are to commandeer this ship for our own use, I recommend we pull all of its crystals and destroy them. They carry a sickening feeling within them and might breed unsettling thoughts.”  

“ _Duly noted_.”

The passageway came to an end with high, metal double doors. Old alchemical runes coated the doors, and Allura felt herself pale. “Whatever Haggar has done here, she did not want anyone knowing about her work. These runes are very powerful.” She hesitantly reached out a glowing hand. “One is designed to block sound. The second is to make someone forget arriving at this corridor. A third one makes the door too heavy to open.”

“ _Can you break them?_ ” Pidge asked curiously.

Allura closed her eyes. “I shall try my best,” she said firmly. “I will not let Haggar keep me from saving any more of my people.”

And then she planted her hands hard on the door and shoved her power into it, grimacing. Almost immediately, her senses were assaulted with the feeling of heavy metal pushing against her—what was this passageway for? What was she doing here?

“No,” she snarled to herself, to Haggar. “My will is stronger. I am not some silly Galra soldier whose mind you can manipulate.”

And then she grunted, pushing her hands into the metal door. It began to bend beneath her force. A rune flickered, then faded from the door.

She felt the metal begin to shift. “Come on,” she gasped, “you quiznaking door, _move_.”

And then it did. The remaining runes broke beneath her concentrated power, and the doors suddenly slid open, nearly tumbling her over.

She barely caught herself, gasping with her hands on her knees for a time, her mind racing. “I made it in,” she breathlessly told her team. Haggar’s influence slipped away from her mind like a wind, as if it had never existed.

“ _What do you see?_ ” Romelle begged. “ _Is it our people?_ ”

Hunk cut in, trying to ease everyone’s nerves. “ _Is it a secret storage of delicious food goo?_ ”

Allura blinked away her daze as she forced herself to straighten. “It’s—” she inhaled to steady herself— “a large lab. It has very old Altean technology integrated with newer Galra interfaces.”

“ _Do you see any quintessence harvesting pods?_ ”

Her blue and purple eyes searched the open space. “There’s a lot of generators. Tubes everywhere—I assume they connect to the main turbines. The feeling of quintessence is strong. And moving out of here fast.” Then she turned her head. “I see large pods on the other side, where the tubes converge.”

The princess began to dash to them, her heart pounding. “That must be the Alteans. There’s four pods.”

The structures were fogged with the force of the quintessence output, and so as she arrived at the first one, she planted her hand on the hard glass and swiped right. For a time, she stared at the face staring back at her. And then she gasped, stepping away in fright.

Her heart dropped hard.

_She knew him._

The body preserved in the liquid was heavily emaciated, his blue eyes unseeing as they stared through her. The violet of his skin was a dull, ashen gray, and his white hair limp. His proud armor was gone and replaced with prisoner clothing.

Allura froze at the sight of his once-handsome face. It was sunken in, skeletal with the tell-tale facial scars of quintessence harvesting. His pod hummed with the quick rate at which his life force was seeping out of him.

She stepped backward again. A deep panic overwhelmed her as she struggled to speak. She felt weak suddenly, reaching out to a nearby generator to steady herself. “Team, I—I found the prisoner. He’s—not a colony Altean.”

There was silence over the frequency. Pidge asked, “ _What is he, then?_ ”

She struggled to say his name, her voice breaking on it hard. “It’s Lotor. He’s here, in one of the harvesting pods. He’s the one powering the ship.”

“ _What?_ ” Keith cut in, incredulous. “ _That’s impossible. We left him in the rift with no way out. He was dead._ ”

Her voice sharpened. “Except I see him _right here_. The pod is—” she felt nausea overcome her the more she stared at his gaunt, distorted face— “It is sucking the natural quintessence of his body away from him.”

Romelle’s voice sharpened. “ _If it is Lotor who is powering the ship, then do not touch him. Let him rot in that pod. It would be a fitting end for him_.”

Allura’s breath hitched. “Romelle, I cannot just leave him to—”

“— _You can_ ,” she said, voice raising. “ _Just as you did in the rift. Let us forget this monster and let his life force run the ship for as long as possible. Perhaps he will be dead by the time you land back here on Olkarion._ ”

“It isn’t right,” the princess retorted. “I could feel his pain through his quintessence. It’s…terribly strong.  We would be no better than him if we allowed him to die in such a cruel way.”  

That silenced the other Altean woman for a time. “ _He killed my family_ ,” she said softly. “ _Thousands of our people_.”

Allura’s heart panged. “And he _will_ be brought to justice for it. But as paladins of Voltron, we have to act above reproach. We are defined by how we treat our enemies, especially when they are unarmed.”

Romelle offered quietly, “ _No one would have to know_.”

Allura stared at the Lotor dying in the harvesting pod. “But that’s the trouble with dark secrets,” she murmured shakily. “Someone always discovers the truth.”

“ _And the other pods?_ ” Romelle asked softly. “ _Are they Altean?_ ”  

She turned her attention to the three other pods nearby. “I don’t know yet, but none of them are glowing like Lotor’s.” She dared to approach them, where they hung in a shadow of the room. And then the bodies contained within them came into view. A great nausea and fright overcame her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, quickly looking away. Bile rose in her throat. She clapped one hand over her mouth to steady herself. “Mmgh,” she cried into her palm, her eyes widening.

Lance’s voice cut in. “ _Allura? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”_

Within the other pods were forms akin to Lotor—all decayed in death. They were partially skeletal with harvesting tubes still hanging off the remains, the clothes rotted upon the bodies. Allura thought she would be sick as she struggled to wipe the image from her mind. Instead, it grew sharper. More visceral.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“ _Princess Allura?_ ” came a few of her teammates’ voices, all scattered in time. “ _Princess, are you okay?_ ”

She inhaled and exhaled sharply, her skin goose-bumping with fright. Her knees felt weak as she pulled her hand from her mouth. She still felt as if she could vomit. “The three others,” she whispered tightly. “They’re all Lotor. B-but.” Her voice hitched. “They are dead. So very, very dead.”

Shiro’s voice returned, tight. “ _Princess,_ ” he said. “ _You’re saying you found **clones** of Lotor?_ ”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.” Tears burned her eyes.

Pidge cut in. “ _And they’re dead? How dead do they look?_ ”

Allura inhaled shakily. She thought of Lotor’s soft and warm lips against her own, his hand stroking the small of her back—

She looked back at one of the pods and then felt herself grow ill again. “Mostly decayed,” she whispered. “Except for the one still powering the ship, although he is frightful enough to behold.” She backed away, attempting to focus on the living Lotor within the first pod.  

There was a great pause amongst the entire team.

Romelle was the first to speak. “ _Why would he have clones?_ ” she asked desperately.

Allura’s breath hitched. Her mind raced. “I don’t know, but it might mean that the Lotor we fought is not the correct one.”

“ _Princess,_ ” quickly cut in Shiro’s voice, which had softened. “ _We don’t know if the Lotor still alive in that pod is any better than the one we left in the rift. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to release him until we know what we’re dealing with_.” 

Her heart bled, and her voice rose with passion. “I understand, Shiro. But if I do not release him, then he will soon die, and we will never know what has transpired—or what exactly Haggar sought to gain through him.”

The dead bodies within the three pods seemed to mock her. Their faces were twisted in horror, the eyeless sockets wide. _She already won she already won—_

_Victory or death—_

Keith cut in. “ _So say you open the pod. Can you control him?_ ”

“I am unsure if I can even keep him alive,” Allura said hoarsely. “Even if I transfer some of the ship’s energy back into him, it is possible his body will reject it. He is very weak.” She began to back away to focus on the still-living Lotor.

“ _Then do it_ ,” Keith said. “ _We’ve got the resources back at the Olkari base to keep him imprisoned. If Haggar’s been cloning Lotor too, then that means we understand even less about her end game_.”

Shiro spoke up. “ _Unless he’s a trap of some kind._ ”

 _Like me_ , he seemed to be saying in the silence.

Allura’s eyes narrowed as she rubbed her temples. “If he is a trap, then it was a poor one. If I had not attempted to heal myself earlier, I would have never known he was down here.” Her voice broke fully this time.

The fallen prince would have died an undignified death in the silence, forgotten and alone. On Allura’s own command, one simple warp to Olkarion would have siphoned the last of his energy—and likely the ship would have lost power mid-warp, potentially dropping them into one of space’s hostile environments. And if they had been caught unaware…

They all could have died before they even reached their lions.

Allura inhaled shakily. “Not finding him was the trap.” She began to search the room alongside the pods. She had to focus now—to ignore the dead bodies. “There is an entire control panel here with many unmarked levers. I need help to shut this contraption down without draining him faster.”

And of all the people to speak next, it was Romelle. Her voice was hesitant. “ _I would prefer we drain him until he dies, but I suppose it is best to have a criminal answer for his crimes_.”

“So you will help me?”

“… _Yes_.”

* * *

In short order, Allura managed to shut down the primary generator harvesting Lotor’s energy. The tubes connected to his body lost their glow and slipped away from him to float in the liquid, and the ship’s auto-controls initiated a Low Power alert, including the initialization of a subroutine to access energy storages. The lights flickered several times.

Next, she had to release the valve recirculating the liquid in the pod. It all spilled onto the floor in a rush, slinking up against her combat boots. It smelled metallic, like blood. Before she could think much on it, the computer activated another alert that the cryogenic system was failing, and that the specimen would soon die.

Allura’s eyes snapped to the body of the still-living Lotor, whose eyes stared back dully, as if already dead.

She snapped at him, “You cannot die now, do you understand? I plan to have many words with you, whether you are the correct Lotor or not.”

No response.

And then Romelle walked her through the sequence for opening the pod itself, and Allura stood tensely. Eventually, the controls acknowledged the command. A hissing noise sounded from the base of the cryogenic pod, and suddenly the glass slid open.

Lotor’s sightless eyes suddenly blinked. He instinctively swung a skeletal hand against the pod’s wall, slipping against the glass as his legs gave out. His knees hit the floor hard. And then his eyes rolled up, his body falling forward.

Allura barely caught him in time, dropping to her knees to catch him. His abused form was completely alien to her, and she made a noise in horror as she felt his skeletal ribs and the unnatural way his torso caved in with each rasp.

His emaciated, scarred face leaned into the warmth of her shoulder. His breath was hardly a puff against her suit. His wet body dripped the strange liquid down her armor. it slipped between the panels and into her clothes and made her shiver.

She placed a hand over his neck and then planted her other hand onto the wet floor. “It is okay,” she murmured shakily to him. His heart beat weakly against hers. “I am here to help you.” And then she began the process of calling upon the ship’s energy to return it to Lotor. “Just relax against me. Let me do the work.”

The lights around them died entirely, and the hull of the ship shuddered as everything tilted at an unnatural angle.

Keith’s voice echoed in her ear. “ _We’re all beneath the ship, trying to keep it level until you can get into your lion. Just let us know when. And hurry_.” His voice grew strained. “ _This ship is really heavy_.”

“Copy that,” Allura said. “But I cannot move him yet.” Her fingers trembled as they glowed a deep purple. The back of his neck was still as cold as death. “I need at least one dobosh to stabilize him, and probably a few more to carry him to Blue and leave the ship.”

Lance’s voice piped up. “ _Or, you could leave him there. That’s totally an option_.”

The princess did not answer then, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. Transferring Lotor’s quintessence back into his body was not quite like saving Shiro. The human’s spirit had been a compact bundle of power and emotion, reaching out to her eagerly. Lotor’s quintessence, in comparison, was a shredded chain—each link a near-silent pulse in the distance. His body had resigned itself to such disintegration, as if actively begging for death.

The transfer brought tears to Allura’s eyes. She desperately tried to blink them away but to no avail, and so her tears slipped down her face as she worked. His energy sluggishly returned to her, limping within the floors to slip through her body and back into his own.

Her fingers began to shake under the strain. It was almost as if he were reluctant to respond to her call.

She briefly shut down her communications with the team and whispered to him, “Please, Lotor. I know you are in pain, and that you want it to end. But I can heal you. I _want_ to heal you. Don’t let go.” Tears burned her eyes again. His life force was little more than a weak ember. “Please, come back to me.”

Lotor’s eyes blinked dully as he rasped in another breath, and then a sigh slipped from him. His quintessence continued to sluggishly return, slipping more easily up through her fingers and into his body. But even the minor transfer exhausted him, and his cheek leaned into her shoulder heavily as he slipped into a deep sleep.

She did not stop until his heartbeat was strong and his breath even.

By the time she lifted her hands, almost dizzy, the ship was fully offline. She could hear the metal straining in places—likely where her teammates were holding it up from falling into the nearby planet’s gravitational pull.

Allura turned her communications back on. Then she gently began to raise the prince up into her arms and onto her shoulder. He was limp, his body still skeletal and face shrunken in. “I’m heading to Blue now,” she called over the frequency. She began to pace into a run out from the corridor. “Lotor’s stable enough to move. Just another dobosh!”

Hunk responded. “ _Uh, guys? My thrusters are failing—like, this thing’s ridiculously heavy, and my lion’s getting tired of holding it_.” The ship shifted, nearly unbalancing Allura as she ran. “ _Whoa, okay—um, any chance we’ve got backup on the way?_ ”

Keith’s voice was strained. It seemed he was fighting too to keep his lion holding up the ship. “ _Negative. They’re too far out. Just a little longer, guys. We can’t afford to lose this ship. Just a little bit longer_.”

Allura’s breath puffed hard as she ran, trying not to jostle the prince hanging off her shoulder. Despite how weightless he was to her, the transfer of energy had exhausted her. Her run grew slower and slower.

“Come on, Blue,” she begged. “Can you meet me halfway? Anything? You’re so far.” She closed her eyes, desperately searching for the lion’s energy to connect with it. “You’re too far—”

Her heart skipped an odd beat or forcing, forcing her to stop. Her full lips dropped open in a daze. Her legs weakening. “Oh,” she whispered to herself, surprised by her own weakness. “Oh, quiznak.”

Lotor’s limp body suddenly felt like an entire planet upon her shoulders. She grunted under the strain. “Blue!” she called again, this time pleading.

(Was her voice quieter? Was she even speaking?)

Her fear rose—she couldn’t fail—she couldn’t fail—

And suddenly, in the far distance of the ship, a distant roar shook the walls. Blue activated fully, flying out from one of the large blast holes in the hull.

The team cheered as suddenly a great strength added to their number, lifting a good portion of the ship’s weight from the other lions. The metal groaned with the strain.

“ _Good job, Allura,_ ” Keith called to her, breathing a sigh of relief. “ _We’re stabilizing now. I think we can hold this until we reach the Olkarion atmosphere. Are you still in the ship with Lotor?_ ”

Under the strain of connecting to Blue and preserving Lotor’s life force, Allura’s legs began to weaken. Sweat beaded down her face as she shakily fell to one knee. “Yes,” she said. Her vision began to swim. “I’ve—I think I’ve overstretched my abilities.”

The heart of Blue touched her heart, offering a simple message. _Rest now_ , it said. _Safe._

“ _It’s okay, Allura_ ,” came Lance’s soft voice. “ _We’ve all got your back. Just keep an eye on Lotor. We’ll get us all home._ ”

And then the princess inhaled shakily. “Right.” She gently moved Lotor off her body, cradling the back of his neck as she leaned him against the floor.  She nearly fell on top of him in doing so, swaying with dizziness. Tears burned at her eyes as she stared down at him.  

For a brief moment, Lotor’s eyes flickered open, half-lidded and without recognition as he stared at her. And then his clouded eyes closed again, his face peaceful despite its wrinkled and scarred distortions.

Allura felt her body grow sluggish and distant as she leaned down beside him. Her limbs stiffened in a strange way as her heart skipped several more beats.  

Her own consciousness began to slip away into darkness.

* * *

Sometime later, Allura awoke in an Olkari infirmary, the bed and walls a delicate pattern of woven wood. She blinked in disorientation, her hands grabbing into the simple, white linen sheets.

To her right sat a tired and worried Lance. “Hey,” he said quietly, relief stretching his lips into a weak smile. He had an old Earth handheld computer game in his lap. “You’re up.”

She faced him as she began to sit up gingerly. She discovered she was wearing a baggy white dress, the linen soft as clouds. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders. “What’s—what’s going on? What did I miss?”

“Aside from my handsome face and magnetic personality?” Lance waggled his brows.

She gave him a look.

“Okay, okay. So the Olkari helped us land here about ten hours ago and found you knocked out beside one sick-looking Lotor. You were right, that guy wasn’t going anywhere.” The light-heartedness fell from his expression, turning into consternation. “It’s like he was the same age but like, _way too old_ at the same time? Is that a thing? Is that what happens when you get quintessence sucked out?”

Allura’s hands tightened into her blankets. “Where is he now? Is he still alive?”

The boy nodded. “Shiro thought it would be best if we kept him in the infirmary on the ship. That way, he doesn’t know his real location and can’t get intel on our base.”

“That is smart, considering everything,” the princess said slowly. “Is he awake?”

“Not yet. But Pidge’s been working with the healers to reverse-engineer these harvesting pods. She thinks they might be able to save some of the Alteans in the second colony.”

Allura’s breath hitched. “Good. That would be…that would be truly a—” Words stuck in her throat. It felt as though a lump had stolen her voice. Thinking about other Alteans suffering at the hands of Lotor was enough to make her eyes burn. She tried to distract herself. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me the good news? Or to spy on me sleeping?”

He shrugged to hide the blush on his tanned cheeks. “We’ve all been taking turns keeping you company. Didn’t want you to wake up in a panic, thinking the universe was ending or something.”

“Because that is such a rare occurrence nowadays,” she deadpanned.

It fell silent between them. Lance added hesitantly, “I also wanted to catch you before Keith or someone talked to you.”

She felt a foreboding overcome her. “Talk about what?”

“About the, uh, extra pods.” The boy scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I know you’re, like, or you _were_ kinda in this romance-y…thing with Lotor. And that you still care about him.” His face tightened. “So when we went back into that ship’s lab and saw the pods with the other clones…” He swallowed hard. “We all felt like maybe you shouldn’t see that again, since you…felt things for him.”

Allura blinked. Her eyes began to burn at the memory. Lance was speaking of the dead bodies hanging hopelessly in that experimentation lab. “What did you do?” she whispered.  

Lance said, voice softly, “We pulled out the pods, and the Olkari buried the bodies under this huge tree. It’s a really nice tree. I don’t know what kind it is, but Ryner says it blooms with these purple flowers? And Pidge says its location is right over this Olkari constellation called the Tree of Life. We all thought you’d like that. And maybe he would too, I don’t know.”

His ramblings made her feel a terrible loss—that somehow, the dead bodies in her memory were now simply haunting phantoms. Like a bad dream. “So you buried them without me to attend the ceremony,” she whispered, heart breaking. “It’s—it’s probably just as well. I am surprised the team would even care to bury them so honorably.”

Lance pressed his lips together. “You said how we treat our enemies is what defines us. And Lotor wasn’t just our enemy. He was our friend too, for a while. We took down a lot of bad guys through him.”

The words yanked tears fully out of Allura’s eyes. She did not bother to hide them this time as she searched Lance’s eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “We did.”

He reached out to hold her hand. The simple touch made her break even further, and she grabbed onto his hand tightly. Her vision blurred hard.

“Allura—?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice wavering. “I _am_ thankful for what you’ve done, truly. I am not sure if I could face them again. The r-rotting flesh and the eye sockets and the way their faces were twisted in this—in this—pain I have never seen before—”

The strong princess broke.

The boy suddenly wrapped her into a hug, and she leaned into him as her breath shuddered, squeezing her eyes tight. His hug was in no way underhanded, but simply a measure of comfort.

“It’s okay,” Lance said, swallowing hard. His own eyes began to burn at her pain, and at the memory of pulling out the pods, staring into the face of defeat and the whole team falling unusually silent— “It’s over. They’ve got the best resting spot in the whole galaxy. Whatever Haggar did to them, they’ve got peace now.”

Allura shuddered out an unsteady breath. “But she was his _mother_ ,” she cried quietly. “His own mother did that to him. No wonder the Lotor we knew was twisted. And—and there is no guarantee the one I found alive is any better.” She pulled away, quivering with a sob. “I cannot fight him again, Lance. I can’t kill him again, and I’m afraid I might have to. I cannot stand the thought of him dead.”

Lance’s face fell with pain as he watched her. He reached out to touch her cheek. “Hey. Look at me.”

She did, her cheeks shining with tears.

“No one on the team wants to kill a dude who just got the life almost sucked out of him, okay?” he said firmly. “Not even Romelle after she saw him and the other pods. We’ve got a lot of time on our side to figure out what all this means. You said it before, this Lotor might be different than the other one anyway—and Pidge agrees with you.”   

“What?”

“I mean, we don’t know exactly how long he’s been a prisoner, but Pidge and the healers think it’s been a long, long time, based on the, uh, other pods. Way more than the three months since the rift.”

She blinked rapidly to rid her vision of tears, her breath still hitching. “You are saying she believes the Lotor in the rift was a clone?”

Lance hesitated. “Pidge thinks we’ve never actually known the real Lotor.”

The statement struck her ears in an odd way—as if they were ringing. It nearly drowned out the world around her. _Never actually known the real Lotor—_

Which meant the real Lotor had never actually known her.

That his affection, possibly everything she knew about him, was still a lie.

She inhaled sharply. “I want to talk to him the instant he wakes up.”

Lance stared at Allura, bewildered. Her eyes were red-rimmed with tears, and her whole body seemed to cave with exhaustion. “You saved everyone’s life _twice_ yesterday,” he said incredulously. “And you’ve passed out just as many times. _You’re crying._ You should rest first. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

The princess raised her chin, and a glimmer of miserable amusement lit her tear-streaked face. “You are a good and caring friend, Lance.”

“…I take it this means you’re gonna totally ignore my sage advice?” he complained.

She sniffed, wiping her eyes. She dared to laugh, but it was sad. “I’m afraid so.”

* * *

Lotor, the 10,000-year-old fallen prince of the Galra empire, dreamt he had been rescued by a beautiful woman with a smooth, heavenly voice. Her tone had rocked his weary soul back to him. Everything had been white. Glowing, soft things.

But it seemed that dreams were too good to be true. Now, as his tired eyes opened, he found himself staring up at a familiar ceiling, which was the infirmary within the ship. His heart fell. He had often been placed there after Haggar had stolen too much of his energy or worked him too hard and then demanded he not yet die. The very fact that he was still alive meant she had use for him.

He closed his dull, blue eyes. He had been so close to death—an angel had appeared to take him away—

_“It is okay. I am here to help you.”_

He raised a shaking hand to his face. He felt the skeletal jut of his cheek and the papery texture of his skin. When he touched his temple, a few strands of dull hair fell out to tangle between his thin fingers. It made his breath hitch, and he closed his eyes to control his panic.

This was the farthest Haggar had ever gone. He did not know if he could even regenerate from such a total loss—perhaps he could yet die on her, just to frustrate her plans.

_“You are not my mother,” he cried raggedly, struggling against his bonds. “You do not deserve that title, you disgusting hag of a—!”_

_Her fingers wrenched into his hair to pull him forward. “—And you are no son of mine, you weak fool,” she rasped, her eyes lit with unnatural fire. “Soon, I will forget you were ever a part of me.”_

There was a buzz at the door, alerting him to the presence of another person. His stomach sunk with a deep weariness. Given how secretive Haggar was with him, it was likely her alone.

He tried to be snide, but his voice was weak and hoarse. “Have you come to finish the job, witch?”

He felt a great claustrophobia in that moment—the feeling of being held down, pushed into a harvesting pod, his mother’s corrupted face staring blankly at him as he reached out to her—

But then something strange happened. The beautiful woman from his dream suddenly appeared at the threshold, wearing her white and pink armor. Her smooth voice vibrated in his ears with a dry tone. “I am _not_ a witch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my first Voltron fanfic! As much as I love the Voltron show, I was disappointed with the treatment of Lotor’s character in season 6. His crime of killing Alteans for their quintessence was heinous enough to make me doubt that the show will turn him good in the end. Season 6 made it pretty clear that Lotor was not strong enough to resist his family’s killer legacies, even if he might have had good intentions to start. 
> 
> Either way, his unbalanced changes in demeanor struck me as eerily similar to Shiro’s clone when Haggar began to control him. Shiro acted like Shiro until Haggar took over. It made me wonder, “What if Lotor was a victim of Haggar too?”
> 
> And that’s where this sorry story came from, haha. Please let me know if you would like to see more!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defender


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to IndiiBrownFlowerCrown, UltraFirelily, MalevoLiss (MissLissa1), TiffanyBlue, TwoHeartsAreBetterThan1, GlitterGold, Nagisa, FlightFright, dorenamryn, anything_past_or_present, Liaka_lucid, Kyndall, Julijuly, Sachi, cataclysmofstars for reviewing last chapter! I really appreciate it and was so glad to receive your feedback. It made my day! 
> 
> Since I don’t want to falsely inflate the comments on my story, I will provide review replies here in the opening notes, if you should ask a question or have specific feedback for me. Speaking of which: 
> 
> Dorenamryn: Yes, the title is in reference to the second law of thermodynamics, and to Muse’s Second Law album. The second law—referring to energy flow and how the universe utltimately moves toward entropy—is a major theme for this story. :) Thanks for reviewing! 
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone who left kudos!

Lotor stared at Allura in consternation. Despite his skeletal and distorted appearance, his clouded eyes trained on her with precision. “What fresh hell is this?” he demanded hoarsely, voice incredulous. Fear came over him—his dream was perhaps another lie Haggar had constructed. “Who are you?”

Allura blinked in surprise. “You do not recognize me?”

His sunken eyes narrowed, which tightened the lined scars on his face. He bit his cracked lip. “Altean,” he murmured in thought. It twisted his face into an ugly disgust, and he turned his face away from her, sinking back into his pillow. “It _is_ still you, witch. You cannot hide your stripes.”

The woman’s sculpted brows furrowed. “I am _not_ Haggar,” she repeated. “I am Princess Allura of Altea, daughter of King Alfor.”

He paused for a time, closing his eyes. One of his elfin ears twitched. “Princess Allura died nearly a thousand years ago in the destruction of her planet. You cannot be who you say you are.” His weak voice strengthened, and he turned his face back to her with a huff. “Furthermore, I feel your power. It is an affront to my senses.”

Of all the ways she imagined their conversation, she had not imagined this. Allura’s face tinged in a blush, and her elfin ears drooped. “I am not Hagger. And I did not die on Altea. I’ve been rather preoccupied with—wait, did you say _1,000 years ago_?”

The prince nearly groaned. “Why do you play these games with me.” He closed his eyes, exhausted. His voice weakened considerably, and he coughed. It was a rattling, rasping sound. “Just—kill me and be done with it.”

His response made Allura hesitate. She feared working him up, especially if he truly did not know her. She carefully schooled her tone to be soft, revealing nothing about the massive gap of time in his memory. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help, and I can explain how I survived your father’s attack later.”

Silence.

Allura tried again, forcing a weak smile onto her face, “The paladins and I—we stole this ship. I pulled you from the harvesting pod. And we’re all rather hoping you can tell us how you came to be here, of all places.”

His voice—so rough and weak, yet so terribly familiar—sharpened. It sounded as if his vocal cords were raw. “Paladins?”

“Why, yes. The paladins of Voltron.”

And then his skeletal face stretched wide in a hysterical smile, even though he still did not open his eyes. His fangs, still a pristine white, gleamed. “A beautiful, dead Altean princess and the war machine my father so covets? My, you are in rare form today, Haggar. I am impressed at this new low.”

Frustration began to build within her, but she fought down her instinctive snap. She missed that he called her beautiful. “I’m afraid you still do not understand—"

He opened his eyes. “—I understand perfectly,” he snapped. “You are an illusion. A dressed-up puppet to manipulate me. In which case, run back to Haggar and tell her I prefer physical torture.” His voice dripped with a derision that almost mimicked the indignant hatred she’d heard in Lotor’s voice back in the rift. “At least I can stand that.”  

Allura blinked again, feeling as if he had struck her. Her breath hitched. “Please, even if you do not believe who I am, I should very much like to heal you.”

The man scoffed. He moved to speak, but the instant he opened his mouth, he coughed. It wracked him so thoroughly that he could not catch his breath for a moment. It made him panic. He weakly struggled to sit up in the bed, his skeletal arms shaking. He made it only as far as leaning on one elbow. The blankets slipped, revealing his naked, emaciated torso. Like this, she could see that he carried harvesting scars all along his body.

Allura’s heart pulled, and she moved forward.

His head snapped back to her, his blue eyes lighting into a fire. “Do not touch me, witch,” he snarled.

She froze, her eyes wide at the rejection. “Lotor, please. You’re in pain; your body is crying out to mine in so much _pain_ —”

A vein appeared down his scarred forehead as emotion overwhelmed him. His withered hands began to glow purple with raw quintessence that he could not afford to release. He was on the verge of a tantrum and a panic attack. “—You will not touch me,” he rasped. His lips, peeling and cracked, began to bleed. His voice was rougher than she had ever heard it, unbalanced as he was. His eyes were wild and feverish. “Not again. Victory or death.”

Her eyes burned with tears. She felt her opportunity to save Lotor slipping away. If he tried to strike her with energy—he could manipulate magic?—it would likely kill him, and the team would think him no better than the other Lotor. A failed experiment. “Please, I’m not trying to hurt you.”

His chest expanded and contracted quickly as he struggled to breathe. His gaunt face stared at her in disbelief, and his harvesting scars—which all came to a point just above his nose—darkened. The purple glow about his hands flickered and died.

Blood began to roll down his nose and from his mouth, quickly trickling down to the quintessence harvesting scars along his chin. His breaths became a rasping gurgle.

Allura panicked. “Lotor—!” She reached out to him, calling forth her own power. As he swooned on the bed, she moved to him, wrapping an arm around his torso before he could fall. His skeletal hand locked onto her arm with a steel grip, trying to push her away.

Blood began to seep from his mouth.

“Let me die, w-witch,” he rasped to her.

“Go to sleep, Lotor,” she commanded, voice quivering.

His grip weakened, and then his mask of dignity broke, revealing a raw and weary soul. “Please.”

The word _please_ pulled at her heartstrings. She was touching his sweaty temple to carry out her influence on his mind, and some strands of his once-beautiful hair fell out on her fingers.

“Please,” he begged her again, his voice slurring. His hand limply slipped from her arm. His exhausted head leaned against her armored chest.

She said nothing as she held him to her, feeling every frightful twitch in his body. Her Altean magic sealed over his internal wounds and cleared away the blood suffocating him. His rasping breaths calmed into a steady rhythm. She slowed his heart and his mind as well.

Soon, he was fully asleep in her arms, his skeletal face slack in peace.

Allura’s breath hitched as she held him. Adrenaline surged through her, trembling her fingers. Lotor’s quintessence was still a disjointed chain around him. If she did not heal him further, he would continue to struggle at the border between life and death.  

And yet he had begged her for death.

“Please forgive me,” she said, voice wavering. “I have too many reasons to keep you here.” Her shaking fingers stroked his temple as she began to feed her energy into him, offering her own quintessence to link his back together.

As she coaxed energy back into him, she tried to fill the silence. “Do you know,” she whispered to him, smiling weakly, “I once saved a dying Balmera? It was an entire planet that felt like you do now.” She opened the connection between them even wider, closing her eyes. “It was in such pain,” she murmured. “The Galra had plundered it, stealing every crystal they could. Its spirit was broken. Its body was collapsing. And yet it lived.”

A few links snapped together, strengthening back together into the dynamic web that was Lotor’s life force. His cheek leaned heavily against her chest in sleep, the stress lines in his face lifting. His ashen color brightened incrementally into a dull lavender.

After a few more moments, Allura severed the tie in exhaustion. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes, and she felt dizzy once again. But she continued to hold Lotor in her arms, her breath puffing against his wild, matted hair.

“There,” she said breathlessly. “I cannot afford to heal you fully in one go. But that should hold you steady, until I can regain some strength.”

The broken prince in her arms inhaled a sound, deep breath. His body was warmer, more relaxed.

It took everything within Allura to leave him.

* * *

Soon, the princess found herself sitting down in the mess hall of the Olkari headquarters, right between Coran and Shiro. On her plate was a massive stack of squalia berry pancakes, courtesy of Hunk. Her halfway gaunt face stared at them in a daze.

Coran pushed the plate closer to her in concern. “Princess, you must eat something. You look exhausted and need to regain your strength.”

She managed a fond look at him. “I know, Coran. Thank you.”

She took a bite of the soft food, grateful that she did not have to spend much energy to chew it. It was very sweet and smooth—like one of the earth desserts Hunk spoke so often about. The instant she swallowed, a deep force inside her craved more. She cut off a bigger piece and stuffed her face.

Hunk leaned forward in satisfaction. “So. Squalia berries—yay or nay?”

The princess swallowed politely before saying, “They’re very good, Hunk,” and then returning to her dish. As she ate, the dark circles under her eyes began to lighten. Her body seemed to relax with the loss of adrenaline. She hardly even realized that she was leaning against Shiro to hold her up.

He leaned back against her a bit to keep her more fully upright, his human warmth and steadiness radiating into her. Were Allura not so exhausted, she might have blushed at her own weakness.

“Are you alright, princess?” Shiro asked softly.  

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m just…very tired.”

Shiro’s golden-brown eyes searched her in worry. “You’ve been through a lot. You don’t need to apologize.”  

She looked up at him. “But I feel I do,” she said, pained. “I’ve used so much of my energy on Lotor that all I’ve done is take from you all in return. And I know some of you do not approve of me healing him so much.” 

All around the table, there was suddenly a tense silence. Romelle, in particular, stabbed her squalia berry pancake with extra force.

“I could show you our people,” she murmured, “and you could heal them instead of their _murderer_.” Her beautiful features were stricken with pain as she stared down at her plate.

Keith decided to intervene to keep the team from breaking into an argument. “Allura, you said Lotor made some strange comments to you?”

She gave the boy a grateful look. “Yes. He did.” She took another bite of the pancake and swallowed. “He did not believe who I was and thought me some illusion of Haggar’s. He says I died 1,000 years ago in the destruction of Altea.”

On the other side of the table, Lance hummed in suspicion, counting on his fingers. “Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “Altea wasn’t destroyed 1,000 years ago. It was 10,000 years ago.” 

She waved her fork at him. “Exactly, Lance.” The small hope to which she clung rose in her voice. “His concept of time is inaccurate, to say the least. It supports Pidge’s theory that this Lotor has been a prisoner for a long, long time.”

Pidge spoke up hesitantly, “I’m still running some radioactive carbon dating tests through an analyzer that Hunk and I set up. We can use the results to confirm whether this theory is valid.” She adjusted the glasses on her face. “I mean, he _could_ be trying to fake us out somehow. So, the more evidence, the better, right?”

It seemed the entire team had grown weary of Lotor. No one wanted to be deceived again. 

“Does he act like the Lotor we know?” Hunk asked.

Allura’s face twisted with a pained grimace. “His syntax is similar. But he is openly paranoid and suspicious, to the point of being rude. He believes his rescue is a trick of the mind, and so he is…not stable. I’m afraid it was a mistake for me to approach him first.” She picked at her food with a little less vigor. “He seems to dislike Alteans who know alchemy.”

Hunk leaned his elbow on the table, his cheek in his hand. “Well, I mean. Imprisonment under Haggar. Terrible food and room service. That would make anyone a little weird. No offense, Shiro.”

“…None taken,” he deadpanned.

Keith asked, “Did he say anything about Haggar? Or about his imprisonment or clones?”

The princess sighed in exhaustion. “Not much—only that he desired physical torture over speaking to me again. He worked himself into a panic and nearly killed himself in the process. That is why I had to expend more energy to stabilize him.”

“So he _is_ still dangerous.” Shiro’s voice turned downward with the realization.

She swallowed hard, allowing herself to lean into him for strength. “In a hysteric state, yes. His hands glowed when he felt threatened by me, which I suppose means no one should visit him fully unarmed. He apparently understands some level of magic.”

Keith pressed, “And do you think it’s worth it to house him? As in, do you think he’ll share information with us, or just be a liability?”

For a time, the princess said nothing. “I believe we’ll have to earn his trust before he offers something in return.” 

Lance scoffed. “Earn _his_ trust? Excuse me? The guy tried to kill us in his Voltron-wannabe and then almost destroyed the entire space-time continuum.” He crossed his arms. “I mean, I feel like I should be getting the apology card, you know? Even if it is a different Lotor. He should be begging to prove himself to us.”

“Lance, I—”

“—No,” he complained. “You’ve cried over this loser. He shouldn’t be threatening you—he should be groveling at your feet.” His brown eyes shifted off, a small blush tinging his cheeks. “You’re too good for him. Any version of him.”

Allura’s face softened with sadness. “And I appreciate that you value me so much. But if this Lotor is truly 9,000 years behind the times, he has good reason to be suspicious of me.” Her voice turned with pain. “And to exhibit paranoid behaviors, given that he’s been a prisoner of Haggar for just as long.”

The boy huffed a bit. “Yeah, well…” He swallowed hard. “Well. That’s—not a bad reason, actually.”

“We can provide some more official backup when you go back to him,” Shiro offered.

Keith looked up and said, “That might make him feel even more cornered.”

The princess lowered her fork. “Keith is right. If I appear with an armed guard, Lotor will not respond well. At the moment, he is stable again. Although it will take time to heal him fully, I do not want him to regress as he did today. He threw an…impressive tantrum.”

Hunk stole a piece of her squalia berry pancake and munched on it. “So then what should we do if we can’t take weapons in, but should have a weapon just in case, and if he doesn’t trust us, but we need him to trust us?”

The question hung in the air for a time.

Eventually, Allura said, “…Perhaps we should try a different approach?”  

* * *

The next time Lotor woke up, he found himself blearily staring at a form that was most definitely not the long-dead Princess Allura of Altea. Instead, it was a far more mundane creature with rounded ears and no markings.

The creature looked up from a laptop and stared at him through an odd-looking, see-through contraption atop its nose. “…’Sup,” it said.

His face twisted. These illusions were becoming more and more ridiculous. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Pidge. I’m the paladin of the green lion of Voltron.”

At that, a misery sunk in his heart. The prince turned his face away in exhaustion. “…Oh, no. Not another one of you.” Another strange, strange illusion.

Pidge’s face fell with irritation. “Hey, don’t be mean to me. I’m exactly who I say I am.”

He turned his face back to her, searching her eyes. He could see now that she was female. “Impossible,” he scoffed. “You are a child, whatever you are.”

“I’m from planet earth, in the Milky Way Galaxy,” she deadpanned. “Species _Homo sapien sapien_ , also known as human. You better get used to me; there’s a bunch of us running around here. It’s not like we’re _that_ different compared to your physiology.”

His thin, white brows knitted together. “Earth?” he repeated. A near-curiosity overcame him. It glimmered through the suspicion in his eyes. “I have never heard of this planet, or of your galaxy.”

“Not surprised,” Pidge said, pushing up her contraption on her face again. “It’s really far from here.”

“…And what is that in front of your eyes?” he murmured, his weak voice strengthening. “A primitive seeing device?” His mother’s illusions were surely growing more and more complicated. Perhaps she was coaxing him back to life by feeding his interests.

A pity it was working.

“Oh, these?” The human girl lifted her glasses. “They’re special lenses to help me see better. My own eyesight’s kinda screwy. Astigmatism—you know, blurry vision and stuff. So I really need them. And they’re not primitive.”

“…So you are an Earth child who is a paladin of Voltron, and yet you are nearly blind, and so openly discuss your weaknesses?” He huffed in amusement, which ended with a light cough. “What a contradiction.”

Her lips flattened. “No more of a contradiction than you are,” she retorted. It seemed her lenses were not well-fit to her face, because she constantly was pushing them up. Or perhaps it was a nervous tick. “You spend your time dissing Princess Allura, but you’re alive only because of her.”  

Lotor blinked at that. Apparently, the illusions were connected. “…You know the princess?”  

Pidge nodded. “I’m watching you for her.”

“And where is she?”

The human girl looked back down at her computer and began typing away. “Off having more fun than I am,” she said.

The prince narrowed his eyes. He had not seen Haggar employ such an odd type of reverse-psychology before. “Take care how you speak to me, illusion.”

“Oh, what are you gonna do, huh?” she challenged, her voice a mix of amusement and irritation. “Fight me?”

His voice roughened with the effort of keeping his emotions at bay. “This illusion is ridiculous. I will not be babysat by a girl-child like you.”

“…So you want pretty-woman Princess Allura to babysit you?” she said, a giggle.

“No, that is not what I—”

“—Guys,” she turned away from him, pushing a button on her keyboard in full amusement. “Check it out. Lotor just said he wants Allura to babysit him.”

And then a swell of other voices reached his ears through the device’s speakers. The first was Hunk. _“Ah, nah, man. She’s way too busy babysitting **us** all the time. I will totally fight him on this.”_

Another voice crackled in. It was Lance, who was huffy and irritated. “ _Hey, Princess Allura doesn’t babysit me, okay? I’m a paladin of Voltron! I save the universe, like, every other day! I’m a knight in shining armor, not some kid who needs a **binkie**.” _

It was then, as Lotor shakily struggled to sit up in bed, his eyes grew dazed. “Surely, I have gone mad,” he breathed to himself in awe. “You must not be illusions from Haggar—perhaps you are hallucinations of my own design.” He rubbed his temple with trembling fingers. “But why _Voltron_? Altean princesses and Earth people?”

Then he looked down at himself, daring to touch to the blankets, which were soft and of cotton. The infirmary had never offered him a blanket before. Or pillows, he thought suddenly.

His breath hitched. “I am mad.” A near-hysteric huff escaped him. “I have gone quiznaking mad. It all feels so real.”

Pidge looked back up at him, and her smile faltered. Guilt flickered across her face. “…Are you okay?”

His clouded blue eyes searched her. “No, hallucination,” he snapped. “I am in the middle of a crisis.” He blinked several times and then clenched his fist. Given his skeletal hands, he feared to see himself in a mirror. “I cannot be dead, as I am still suffering. You cannot be an illusion, because this is all too complex.”

His weak heart dared to think that perhaps it was all real. “I am not drugged,” he rasped unsteadily, “and I could not in my wildest imaginings conjure a dead Altean princess.”

His breaths grew shorter, his jaw dropping as he struggled to inhale. The action made his gaunt face even sharper. His grip on the infirmary bed handle made the skin on his knuckles split open. His eyes grew dazed.

Pidge quickly stood up in a panic. “Uh—uh, oh my gosh. Um, just breathe. It’s all okay. I’m sorry; I forgot I’m supposed to be nice.” She raised her arm and spoke into her watch. “Allura? He’s not breathing right. He kinda looks like he’s—"

The overwhelming panic was too much. His stomach wrenched hard, and his vision tunneled. His eyes grew unfocused for a bit, the tips of his elfin ears turning almost green.

Pidge’s eyes widened. She barely managed to grab for a nearby trash bucket and thrust it in front of him.

And that was how one panicked Allura found them a minute later, with Lotor dry-heaving into a bucket, his hands shaking on the bed rail while Pidge held the bucket with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and looking green herself.

As Lotor rasped over the bucket, drops of blood fell from his lips. It made his eyes burn with tears.

The voices of the others swam in his ears, which were now ringing hard. “Pidge—grab—the others in the—”

“—Sure?”

“Yes, I—him.” There was a rustling. The bucket changing hands.

Then he felt someone sit down on the bed beside him. A small, warm hand touched his naked back. “Lotor, calm down,” begged the familiar voice, clearer now that she was closer to him. “Please, you need to breathe.”

_Princess Allura of Altea._

Lotor tensed. He licked his lips, swallowing back the metallic taste of his blood. “Do not touch me, witch,” he rasped wildly. “You will not p-put me to sleep again with a sp—” His breaths came quickly again before he heaved once more. The action made his eyes and stomach burn.

All thought in his mind fragmented.

This time, the amount of blood splattering into the bucket was significant. He wheezed with the effort to catch his breath. Tears streaked down his face.

His odd companion inhaled sharply. “Quiznak—you’ve broken open your internal wounds.”  

A sudden memory crossed his mind—

_“Pain is your teacher—”_

 “I have enough energy to stop it,” she added, forcing her voice to be optimistic. She moved her hand on his bare back in comforting circles. “I will not force you to sleep this time.”

Her touch—soft and warm—was like the kiss of a cloud against him. He had not felt such comforting measures for so long that it made him pause, his eyes still squeezed shut as he struggled through another heave. He so desperately craved it.

He knew it had to be a lie. Perhaps she had a dagger in the other hand.

The only logical explanation.

And then she moved to push his matted hair aside to expose his neck—and he panicked. Self-preservation instinct snapped into him, activating his last energy reserve. His eyes darkened, and his nails sharpened to claws. He swiped at her hard.

And he caught her smooth cheek, slicing it open.

The princess gasped, quickly flinching away from him and dropping the bucket. She raised a shaking hand to her face in pain. Ruby blood welled from three shallow cuts across her cheek, her full lips still dropped open in shock.

For a brief second, there was silence between them, save for Lotor’s rasping breaths. The hatred and fright in his eyes heightened. “Lies,” he rasped, trying to blink away the unwilling tears still in his eyes. “ _Witch_.”

Allura felt her own injury pulse with pain, and tears rose to her eyes as she watched the man on the bed begin to dry-heave once again. The somewhat healthy lavender of his skin turned to ash. “What are you doing?” she nearly shrieked at him, voice hitching. “I am trying to help you, and—and you’re killing yourself!”

His lips and teeth were red with his own blood. When he smiled, he was a frightful sight, coupled with his skeletal face and harvesting scars. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice guttural. “One l-less puppet to rape of—” he trailed off, beginning to swoon, his eyes unfocusing. “Of…”

The door to the infirmary room slammed open, and in poured the entire Voltron team with bayards trained at Lotor. Coran was leading the charge.  “Princess!” He quickly pulled her up into his arms, face in a panic.

Allura pulled her hand away from her bleeding face to clutch at his collar tightly. She did not notice that her fingers stained his collar red. “Coran, put me down! Put me down this instant!”

His usually comical expression was hardened with grim determination. “Sorry, princess. I’m getting you out of here.”

The tears in her eyes began to streak down her face as she struggled against him, but the hold he had her in put her at a major disadvantage. The only way to disengage was to hurt Coran, which she could not do. And in that moment, she felt so lost and hopeless as she overheard the shouts of the paladins—they were telling Lotor to stand down or be killed.

Her breath hitched as she heard Lotor gurgle out a snarl. 

She did something she had not done in millennia. As she held her cheek, she cried openly, without reserve. It was a deep, sweltering pain encompassing her every emotion for Lotor.

Lotor—who had once intertwined their fingers while reviewing a schematic. Who had knowingly sucked the life out of her people while kissing her and speaking of royal alliances. Lotor, who had tried to kill her.

And now, she could add facial disfiguration to the list. All in the name of trying to save him.

Coran murmured frantic words of comfort while he turned her chin to the side. The three scratches were deep and bleeding fast down her jaw and neck. He gently pressed his white-gloved hand to her cheek in hopes of stopping the bleeding.

 “It’s okay, princess,” he said. “We’ll get you fixed up good as new.”

That seemed to snap her out of a daze, revealing that Coran had misinterpreted her reason for crying. “No,” she cried. “They’re going to kill him. They’re going to kill—” She suddenly pulled away in a wild determination.

“—Princess!” He reached out to her, trying to rein her back from the infirmary. “Please, don’t go back in there!”

* * *

The dying Lotor was no match for the paladins. His physical struggles weakened as he felt several hands tie his limbs to the bed rails. Only sheer will kept his soul tied to his broken body—in part because of a single spark of revelation. It came on slowly, then gripped him with an iron fist.

_“Pain is your teacher—"_

Usually, when he struck out at Haggar, the illusion faded. The torturer was perhaps a robot or a magical puppet—something simple and unliving. She was too tricky to endanger herself. But here—he had struck real flesh and bone. A living soul.

His emaciated chest caved with short, quick breaths.

 “No,” he rasped, his clouded, blue eyes wide in awe, revealing more of his yellow sclera. Princess Allura—or whatever her true identity—was real. Horror and confusion coursed through him as he wheezed. “N-no.” 

Surely, Haggar was playing an all-new game. Offering a live sacrifice to see how well she’d bred him into a base animal, just like another one of her mindless robeasts.

He weakly pulled at the bonds holding his arms over his head. The Voltron paladins around him tensed, re-centering their weapons at his heart.

The colors blurred in his vision—blue, red, green. yellow—

“Please, tell me you did not kill him!” came Allura’s tearful voice. It was distant, as if coming from the hall.

“He’s still alive, princess,” said a stressed male voice he did not recognize. “Are you okay?”

 There was a pause, then a rustle at the door. “I’m fine,” echoed her strained voice. She held her ruined, bloody cheek, staring wildly into the room with red-rimmed eyes. She was still on the verge of another sob. “He just scratched my face—"

“It’s not just a scratch!” Coran cried, appearing at the door and waving wildly. “That monster flayed her cheek like an Unilu pirate with _scissor hands_!”

On the other side of the room, Lance’s finger tightened over the trigger to his blaster. His eyes had narrowed to slits, his body trembling in rage. “How dare you,” he snarled at Lotor. “How dare you hurt her.”

Keith raised his hand. “Lance, don’t shoot!” He stared at the broken prisoner on the bed. Now that Lotor was pinned on his back, his internal injuries were suffocating him. The alien’s eyes were wide to heaven in horror as he choked up blood. It ran from his mouth in a constant trail. “If we shoot, then we lose our informant on Haggar.”

Lance stared up at him in betrayal. “You would put information over the princess?”

“No.” The black paladin’s voice was rough and pained. “She’s not dying, and _he is_. We have to make a decision we won’t regret later.”

Allura pressed immediately, “We cannot let him die.”

“Princess—” Coran tried to shuffle her back into the hallway, away from the horrific sight of the pinned Lotor.  

She slipped away quickly, running toward the bed. “—No, this is all my fault.” Her voice was ragged with pain. Her eye above her bleeding cheek still watered hard with the shock. “I cornered him. He panicked.”

Lance pulled his finger off the trigger the instant Allura was in range. “He’s a rabid dog,” he cried to her, watching incredulously as she leaned over Lotor’s bed. “Princess, just let him die!”

“I cannot allow that,” she snapped, staring down in worry. “You know I can’t.”

Lotor’s hands, still tied to the side rails, clenched. And then his claws retracted into smooth, blunt fingernails as he stared up at her in awe. His harvesting scars had darkened to the color of his blood, which now stained his hair and the pillows and the floor.

His eyes were beginning to mist over.

Her voice struck his ears, rough and quivering. “No. You will _not_ die today.” And then she planted her hand directly over his heart. “ _I command it of you._ ”

He felt the surge of her energy blast into him. His back arched up off the bed, his thin, cracked lips dropping open with a shuddering inhale. Her power was swift, like a battering ram.

In the midst of the wave, Allura swept his consciousness away from her own anger, instead allowing him to anchor within her own memories. And then he saw it—a flash of a beautiful skyline at dawn, the clouds a soft array of color. The green grass and flowers swayed in the wind, shaded by towering trees.

Peace.

Allura’s entire body glowed with the force of preserving his life, the quintessence field between them shifting violently into him. It snapped shut his internal wounds even more soundly than before, sweeping along his airways to scrub out the blood.

He felt none of it now. No pain. No emptiness.

His consciousness stood cradled with the safe space of that singular memory—of the smell of flowers. Warm sun. Trees. He clung like a drowning man to her memory of peace. He could not recall the last time he had seen greenery. It was beautiful—it was so beautiful—

Allura’s voice quivered. “I am not Haggar, nor am I a puppet. I want to prove this to you. But you have to _give me a chance_.”

The harvesting scars upon his face began to lighten. As he stared up at her, his clouded eyes began to clear into their natural cobalt blue, as deep as the Altean sky. His eyes searched her, focused on the deep lacerations in her cheek.

And then his right hand snapped its tie on the bed rail and blurred forward.

The paladins swooped in, but not before Lotor’s hand cupped Allura’s injured cheek. She gasped, her concentration broken as she winced. “Oh—!” His thin, long fingers pressed into her skin gently and began to glow purple.

“—Nngh.” With a hitched breath, he reversed the flow of energy between them, filtering it up into Allura’s bloody cheek.

Everyone in the room froze. The wounds upon Allura’s face quickly stitched themselves into smooth, brown skin.

Lance’s blaster converted back to a bayard as his jaw dropped. “What the—?”

It was a quick transfer. Lotor’s fingers slid weakly down the curve of her cheek in almost a caress, his arm trembling with the effort. In doing so, he streaked the remaining blood on her face. His hand slipped, falling limply back onto the bed.

And then his beautiful eyes closed, still ringed by dark circles and harvesting scars. The last thing he saw was Allura’s full lips dropped open without speech, her healed face pink with a blush of shock.

Even if she were still some trick of Haggar’s, Lotor thought as he fell into sleep, she was a terribly beautiful trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Thanks again for the support and reviews on this story. You inspired me to write another chapter, which I hope was enjoyable (I mean, to the extent that watching Lotor and Allura suffer is enjoyable?). Please let me know if you’re still interested and if you have any requests on what you’d like to see happen.
> 
> (Also, does anyone know how to spell the name of Lotor’s governess? Is it Dayak?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following people for reviewing last time: beansquat, Phydia, anything_past_or_present, Kyndall, Nagisa, KnightDawn, octopus_hatred, nut, GlitterGold, skullmoss, Em, TiffanyBlue, RinoaHeart, cataclysmofstars, TwoHeartsAreBetterThan1, Stroshimi, Amanda, EllieDoll, Gabriel, Solace, Lotorashipper, Sav, and NickyADon! I can’t tell you how thankful I was to receive your note, and to see some familiar names returning too! 
> 
> Additional thanks to beansquat for confirming how to spell Dayak, and to Em and Amanda for providing plotline requests and things for me to consider. Also, I had no idea the 80s Voltron had a Lotor clone until TiffanyBlue mentioned it, so I was really excited to find that out, haha. 
> 
> Last but not least, I did get some people mentioning how much they liked the hurt/comfort aspect of this story and want hurt!Lotor to stick around for a bit. So I will keep that in mind as I continue to write! 
> 
> Thanks again for more kudos!

Pidge was absolutely haunted as they stood out in the hallway, unable to even look Allura in the eye. “I’m sorry,” she said. She readjusted her glasses with shaking hands and rapidly tried to blink away tears. “I teased him, and it’s all my fault he started spiraling, and I’m so sorry, Princess Allura. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d hurt you.”

The princess kneeled before the younger girl and gently tilted her chin. “It’s not your fault, Pidge,” she said gently, her own eyes still red-rimmed with dark circles. “And look, I’m good as new now.” She smiled weakly, but then struggled to hide a sudden wince. It seemed that although the wound healed, her nerves still burned from an incomplete healing. Lotor was clumsy with the magic he had, improperly trained and fragmented in execution. She would have to ask him how he knew any at all. The Lotor she knew had been oddly silent about any such capability—even derisive of Haggar and the magic wielded by her druids.

Her attention snapped back to the present.

The girl before her hiccupped and then threw out her arms to embrace Allura. She squeezed her eyes shut hard, and tears fell down her face. “I just wasn’t thinking, you know?”

Allura wrapped her arms around Pidge. For a time, she said nothing as she leaned her head against the girl’s. It struck her as the first time the human had reached out to her in such a way. Her heart swelled. “You were not the one who spiraled him.” She added in a whisper, “And if you teased him, I’m sure he deserved it.”

The girl huffed out a shaky exhale. She pulled away, sniffing. Awkwardly, she ran her nose on her sleeve and then readjusted her glasses, trying to collect herself. “Yeah. Well.” She hesitated. “I can help clean up the mess.”

The infirmary room where Lotor now peacefully slept was splatted with his blood along the bed and wall—and all over himself. Allura had checked him twice to make sure he was in fact still alive and only sleeping. He looked rather like a dead soldier from a battlefield, his white blanket as blood-stained as he was.

“Do not feel you need to help,” Allura comforted. “I’m afraid he’s caused everyone enough trouble. I can take of it myself.”

Pidge gave her a look despite the water in her eyes. “You sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” She then gently shooed the girl along. “You have your carbon dating test to complete, which is even more important than cleaning up this mess.”

“Will you be safe?” the girl asked.

“I promise I’ll be weary of those claws of his,” Allura said, softening her voice. She looked up at the other paladins still standing in the hall. “I can handle him.”

Lance was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed tightly and mouth in a tight line. He looked up at Allura in concern, his gaze concentrated on her healed cheek. “I know you can protect yourself,” he said slowly. “But…you’ve got your bayard handy, right?”

Her full lips twitched. “Yes, I do. Thank you for your concern, Lance. If it puts your mind at ease, I’ll check in with the team every varga.”

His tanned cheeks began to flush a bit. He seemed almost ready to say something else, but then Keith came up to him.

“Come on, man,” Keith clapped his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Allura can handle Lotor. We still got a _lot_ of work to do to clean out this ship.”

The other boy face-faulted suddenly. “Nooo. We already checked over the halls. I’ve showered _twice_ today just from hauling out the armory.”

“Yeah, but we still have to remove all the dark crystals. Remember? Allura was talking about it earlier?”

Lance scratched his head, and then a light of recognition came into his eyes, and he began to whine pitifully, bowing over as if the world hung upon him. “Not cool. Those things are heavy.”

Hunk approached from down the hall, pulling up his belt with a particularly determined expression. “Don’t worry, guys. I’ve got this kick-butt pulley system I’ve been working on to make cleanup easier. I’m estimating we can cut downtime from like, 3 hours to one and a half.”

Pidge cut in, hesitantly easing back into her more normal self, “Did you account for the actual time it takes to set up the transport?”

Hunk raised up finger guns. “That’s the beauty of it. It’s all self-sufficient setup, thanks to that source code you gave me. You just tell it where to go.”

“…You finished my AI?”

“Totally. Her name is Alfreda. Just, be careful—she doesn’t like beef stew because I spilled some on her last night while I was working on her circuits? So just, don’t mention beef stew.”

“And what happens, exactly,” Keith deadpanned, “if someone _does_ mention beef stew?”

The team began to move away from Allura, with Hunk’s cheery voice echoing off the hallways. “So, she shuts down her primary processing units to protect them and then uses the backup processor to play this one song from the 21st century. You know what? I’m totally gonna say beef stew just so you can see this happen. It’s great. We gotta get Shiro in on this too.”

Allura called after them, her heart a bit lighter, “Be careful with those crystals! They might make you sick if you touch them!”

Keith waved over his shoulder. “You got it!”

That left only Coran remaining in the hall with her. He looked a bit haunted, still holding his blood-stained white glove. He looked down at her in deep worry. “Princess,” he said, voice strained. “I don’t like this plan of leaving you alone with him one bit. Not one bit. That man in there is bad news.”

Allura approached him. “Coran,” she said softly.

“Even an _Altean fly trap_ had the decency to warn you before it tried to slice your head off,” Coran mourned. “A plant, princess. A _plant_.”

Her nimble fingers curled around his hand holding the blood-stained glove. “Coran,” she said. “It was my mistake. He thought I was attacking him, in which case, _I_ was the rude fly trap in his eyes.”

The older Altean’s eyes hardened in righteous anger. “It doesn’t matter, princess. If he ever raises his hands against you again, I’ll—I’ll twist him into a Numorian knot! With six ends!”

Allura couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “I don’t doubt that. But he healed me too, don’t forget.”

Coran grunted. “And lucky for him, or else I’d have gone for a Trusul knot.” And then he lifted the blood-stained white glove, a devious glint in his eye. “Also, he owes me a new set of gloves, or otherwise some kind of detergent that gets blood out of silk. And maybe a mustache comb—I left mine behind on the Castle of Lions, and Shiro’s getting annoyed that I keep stealing his hair brush.”

Her lips widened with a white smile. “We’ll have Lotor pay off his debts to you once he’s feeling better.”

There was a pause. Coran begged, “At least let me help you. You shouldn’t be scrubbing his blood off the floor.”

Allura raised her hand to the man’s worn cheek. “I’m a paladin of Voltron,” she said lightly. “I have to get my hands dirty sometimes in the name of intergalactic peace. Saving him was my idea and therefore makes him my responsibility. Anyway, the rest of the team needs you far more. Please make sure they don’t accidentally blow themselves up.”

Coran eyed her. It seemed to pain him for a time to think of leaving her, but then his worn face flickered with a brief humor. He huffed in admiration of her. “…Very well, princess.” 

And then he touched her face one more time before disappearing down the hall, leaving her alone.

Allura inhaled deeply, trying to center herself. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin and walked back into the infirmary room where Lotor was still peacefully asleep. If anything, the bloody sight from his struggles was worse than she had previously recalled. The princess’s shoulders fell with a sigh. “Oh, quiznak. Why can’t anything with him be easy.”

* * *

 

_The little child stood in the middle of the dark room, holding up heavy weights. His thin arms shook. “Dayak,” he whined, raising innocent eyes to her. “I’m tired.”_

_“Quiet!” Suddenly, Dayak’s rod whipped across his face, nearly unbalancing him. He gasped._

_Lotor tried to catch his breath. Upon his cheek was a heavy welt where she had smacked him, his lavender skin flushing to a deep, angry violet. His eyes burned. “Ow,” he cried in anger, still struggling to hold the weights. Watery tears began to slip down his face. “That hurt me!”_

_She smacked him again. “Do not cry, prince. Tears are a distraction from enlightenment, and therefore a recreational activity not befitting of your station.”_

_He stared up at her, his blue eyes bewildered and yellow sclera wide in shock. “You hit me,” he complained. “And it hurt.”_

_She rapped him again in the seat of his pants, and he yelped, stumbling forward. It was all he could do to keep the weights in the air, which swung wildly before he could correct his stance._

_“Silence!” she commanded sharply, red eyes narrowing. “You dishonor me with your whining.”_

_His face flushed, and he dared to complain one last time, “But I do not want to do this.”_

_There was a great silence between them. “Hn. Then you must fight me to the death if you desire to escape my teaching.”_

_He looked at her, actively considering the proposal before his heart sunk. Dayak was a strong warrior. The number of rebellion factions she had slain in her youth—all those Galra who had attempted to defy Zarkon’s galactic takeover—was incalculable. His small chest fluttered with short breaths. His arms were shaking from the pain of the weights. “…Would you kill me, Dayak?”_

_Her thin lips stretched, and she patted his bruised, tear-streaked face. “Yes, young one. Victory or death. This is the way of the Galra.”_

_He winced, his lip quivering. His mind raced for an alternative. Perhaps he could hide in the bushes outside the castle. Perhaps he could run to his mother—but no, that was not an option either. His mother had slapped him last time he’d interrupted her work._

_The small Lotor then considered running away entirely. The servant classes were little more than slaves wearing rags. He could throw mud on himself and streak his hair dark and blend in with them, and perhaps he could escape on a ship transporting servants to a newly opened planet. But then he remembered that he did not look quite like the other Galra. Even the servant classes would know who he was._

_And so he remained put, staring up at his governess in betrayal. “ **Servants** do not fight to the death.” _

_Suddenly, Dayak’s red eyes narrowed to slits. She whacked him again, hard. “The servant classes are little more than beasts of burden—vehicles through which to carry out our will. They do not have autonomy, like those of us in the warrior class. Do not compare yourself to the slaves.”_

_Lotor blinked, struggling to follow as his vision blurred. “But they are Galra too,” he cried. “Why am I different?”_

_Another whack. “You invite deep dishonor to your father by your words. Do not ever covet the life of a slave over that of a warrior, do you understand me?”_

_“But why?” he pleaded. “Why be warrior class?”_

_“Succeed in my teachings, and you may perhaps be perfected into the next emperor.” Dayak’s eyes misted a bit. “An all-powerful ruler. You could change the stars. Lead armies. Destroy all our enemies and spread the Galra traditions to the farthest reaches of the galaxy!”_

_Lotor’s little body shook. “And you wouldn’t hit me anymore?”_

_“No, I would not. I would be proud if you accomplished such a position.”_

_He began to struggle harder against the weights. He stared up at her with determination. “…Then I will try, Dayak. I’ll become the next emperor so you don’t have to hit me.”_

_She blinked. And then an almost fond smile stretched her face. “Ah, the things children say.” She rapped him again, this time very lightly. “You have a long way to go before you can be emperor, little prince.”_

_Her nickname for him—little prince—was as affectionate as she cared to get with him. It meant he was back in her good graces. He tried to smile, but his face hurt from being hit by her. His arms felt like they would fall off any time._

_“…I’m hungry,” he whined._

_She whacked him upside the head, and he tried not to cry, but the tears still ran down his bruised face in the silence._

* * *

Lotor awoke slowly to the feeling of a warm washcloth sweeping down his chest. Its heat sunk into his skin like sunlight. For a time, he did not even open his eyes, the stress lines on his face relaxing. The heat felt good, and the hand holding the cloth was small and oddly familiar. Gentle. Both the hand and the cloth disappeared after it swept down to his ribs. Then, the cloth returned again, gently sweeping across his collarbone.

His bleary, blue eyes opened to the vision of one Princess Allura of Altea. She still wore her white and pink armor. But her face was worn hard with exhaustion, her brilliant eyes dimmer.

She pulled away to dunk the cloth back into a small bucket of water on the floor. “I’m afraid,” she said, “you desperately need a real bath. But this should help until we can get you out of bed.” Her nimble hands wrung the extra water from the cloth. It ran pink with his blood. Then she gently placed the cloth on his shoulder, scrubbing at his skin. “Tell me if I’m too rough.”

Lotor watched her curiously, his eyes sharpening with awareness as the slept left him. His baritone voice was still weighted with a pained rasp. “You are washing me?”

She huffed. “Well, I couldn’t just leave you lying in a pool of your own blood. Honestly, how savage do you think I am?”

With what little energy he had, he weakly quirked a white brow. He had lost count how many times he’d woken up on a floor, bloodied and broken. A noise of amusement escaped him before a weak cough rattled his chest. He then tried to catch his breath, to no avail. He leaned on an elbow to pull himself up to breathe easier, his yellow sclera widening in a mild panic.

Allura dropped the cloth onto the side of the bed and said quickly, “Let me help you.” And she anchored a strong arm around his torso, taking on the full of his weight as she raised him up. He weakly grabbed onto her forearm as he wheezed in an odd breath. He felt the pillow beneath him shuffle—she was pushing it back against the headboard. Then, gently, she lifted him back until his spine cushioned into the pillow.

Relief came over him as he relaxed, leaning his head back. His wheeze cleared, but he felt breathless from the minimal exertion on his part.

“There,” she said, unlocking her arm from him. “Is that better?”

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in delight of the air, which was thick and cool in his burning lungs. “Yes.”

“Good.” And then the Altean woman grabbed onto her cloth and added, “Now, I’d prefer not to be scratched again, so when I touch your face or neck, please know it’s because you need it.” And with that, she proceeded to sweep the warm, wet cloth across his bloodied cheek.

His expression grew somewhat disgruntled as she scrubbed, his lavender cheeks tinged with a blush. “I suppose,” he said hoarsely, as if attempting some kind of royal dignity, “this all means you are not an illusion.”   

She gave him an annoyed look. “I’ve told you multiple times what I am.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “you are a Galra female disguised by Haggar to look like an Altean.” He closed an eye in irritation as she swept the cloth over his brow.

She deadpanned, “And why would Haggar ever do that?”

“You would know,” he challenged. His hands, which rested limply in his lap with exhaustion, twitched with the memory of touching her and healing her cheek. “You must be some attempt to exploit a weakness. To manipulate my emotions, give how useless physical torture is against me.”

Allura’s white brows flew up. “And how, pray tell, am I exploiting you? I’m cleaning you up, if you haven’t noticed.”

His sharp face twisted a bit, tightening the harvesting scars on his skin. “Perhaps Haggar seeks to understand the knowledge I have gained on Altean magic—and this is all an elaborate ploy to trick me into speaking of it.”

“Oh, please.” Allura dunked the washcloth into the bucket. “I know more Altean magic than you do, and you know it.”

“Then perhaps the witch wishes to breed me,” he challenged, narrowing his eyes at her, “and she thinks you the ideal mate to seduce me into reproducing children for her experiments.”

Allura’s eyes widened, and her cheeks heated. “What?” she said incredulously. “Absolutely not! I’ll have you know, good sir, that I am no one’s puppet. I am not seducing you. And for heaven’s sake, I’m not _breeding_ with you.”

His blue eyes narrowed, and his voice rose with passion. “Why else would she send you?” A disbelieving huff overcame him, and he coughed lightly. His voice grew a bit raspier and rougher with derision. “A beautiful princess of Altea, who wields the power of the ancients? Nursing me back to health? How ridiculous as to be laughable.”

Her lips gaped. Before she had a chance to speak, he interrupted her.

“I healed you of my mistake,” he warned, “but if you spread your legs upon me, then I shall not hesitate to slice out your heart.”  

That did it. Her eye twitched, and then she poked his chest hard, lit with righteous fire. “Do not dare to impugn my honor either. I wouldn’t reproduce with you if you were the last male alive!”  

His eyes widened a fraction at her emotion, and his elfin ears pulled back a bit in surprise.

“Ugh,” she exclaimed, running an exhausted hand over her face. In doing so, she ran a line of his blood along her temple. “Even as weak as you are, you’re absolutely impossible.”  

There was a pause between them, and he dared to say, “Ah, but you teach me so much. You are far too emotionally uncontrolled to be a real princess.”

With that, her beautiful eyes narrowed, and her full lips flattened. “I am usually a fount of diplomacy, but I’m afraid you’ve used up my reserves as of late.” And then she pressed the washcloth directly against his mouth, muting him.

He gave a noise of surprise, his lavender cheeks tinging once more with a blush. He sputtered a bit at the water and the metallic taste of his own blood.

Then she scrubbed a little harder at the flecks of blood still lining his lips. “And just so we’re clear,” she declared, “my father taught me there was no task unworthy for the royal family. Washing you off is hardly the most mundane thing I’ve done.”

She pulled away to dunk the washcloth back into the water bucket.

“Oh?” he challenged roughly. “In what other way have you dishonored your station?”  

She flicked water at him. “Probably by talking to you,” she snapped.

His aristocratic nose wrinkled a bit at the splattering of water down his face, but this time, his mouth split with an amused, genuine smile. A tired huff escaped him. “…I admire your spirit, Galra woman.”

Allura nearly cried but settled for a groan as she sat back in the chair beside his bed. “Oh, not this again. What in the universe will it take to prove I am who I say I am?” She eyed him hard. “I’m being quite serious, you know.”

It fell silent between them for some time.

The man’s face was unreadable as his intelligent eyes searched her own. Something about him seemed terribly calculating and devious in that moment. Eventually, he said, “Very well. I can tell when a memory has been altered or fabricated. Therefore, show me a memory of how you survived Altea’s destruction, _Princess Allura_.”

Allura hesitated. What he asked of her was terribly intimate, even from the perspective of objective Altean knowledge. But it was so far her only option. “…Very well,” she said, voice clipped. “ _One_ memory.” And then she reached out and gently grabbed his hand, her own fingers dwarfed by his own. She swallowed hard before she lifted his hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.

Lotor then closed his eyes as well, feeling for an open crack in the bundle of her energy. His mind slipped through easily enough, searching through the chaotic expanse with no trace of Haggar’s power in sight.

Suddenly, he was bombarded with the sound of explosions—gasping breath and running—the image of King Alfor—being pushed back into a cryostasis pod in the midst of the destruction—

_“Father—!”_

All of it raw. Untampered.

Real.

Lotor froze as his fingers brushed against the gold crowning her forehead. His focus slammed back into his own body like a slap to the face, and it left him breathless and chilled with a cold sweat. He suddenly felt dizzy, his harvesting scars tightening upon his face.

By the time he opened his blurry eyes, he realized that Princess Allura had dropped his limp hand and had surged forward, holding him up from falling forward.

He felt ill as he stared down at the clean, white sheet over his legs. His breath came in shorter and shorter gasps.

“Lotor,” she said, but her voice sounded distant and distorted, as if underwater. Her heard her grow increasingly more stressed and worried. “Lotor? Oh quiznak, I should’ve known it would be too much for you.” 

His eyes burned with tears as he became nauseated. He could still smell the stench of people burning in the fires—the screams of Alteans raising up to the skies. He was seeing it through Allura’s eyes. Allura, who had never seen nor heard such things, who was an innocent soul. He could not separate himself from her agony or nausea, her confusion as she cried out her father’s name.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a muffled noise escaping his throat as he fought to collect himself from the memory.

Calloused fingers—she was no ordinary princess—stroked his temple. “It’s over,” she murmured quickly to him. “It’s been over for a very long time. Focus on my voice. Let the memory fade in favor of the present.”

His breath shuddered in an odd way as he weakly tried to grasp for her arm. His broken body could not handle the level of emotion within him, his heartbeat racing harder and harder.

Allura’s voice tightened. “Please, you have to calm down.”

The memory of Altea’s destruction mixed in with Lotor’s own memories of his father destroying his favorite mining colony, where he had grown fond of the culture and the people and had restructured Galra occupation to maximize their quality of life.

He was standing on the bridge of Galra central command, jaw dropped open as lasers fired upon the planet. _“No, father—you cannot do this—they are peaceful citizens of the empire. **Your** empire!” _

_“And you dishonor me by valuing them over my will. This is a lesson for you, Lotor.”_

_“Please, father!” His voice broke as he rushed forward. “Punish me if you desire. Punish **me** , not them.” _

_“Silence!” A large hand swung into view, and blistering pain erupted across his skull._

Suddenly, Lotor came back to the present, his blue eyes wide to the ceiling. He was leaning back on the pillows again, with Allura patting his face in desperation. He did not even realize he was crying out, his voice a rasp, “Punish me, not them. Punish me, not—”

“—I’m not doing anything,” Allura cried back to him, her eyes wide. “Lotor, I do not know what you are accessing, but it is _not_ my memory. Your magic is out of control. You must learn to rein yourself back in, or I _will_ put you back to sleep.”

Tears streaked down his scarred cheeks. “—Not them, punish me, not them—” But his voice began to trail off as he weakened, his broken body shuddering with each agonizing breath.

“—Come on, you can do this,” she pleaded with him. “That’s it, _look at me_.”

Eventually, he came to the feeling of one Princess Allura of Altea stroking his face. She was biting her lip, her eyes red-rimmed all over again.

A deep horror had crept into her beautiful features. She whispered in disbelief, “What did they do to you.”

He swallowed back another emotional wave as he stared at her, stricken. He leaned into her touch, tiredly allowing his tears to slip from his worn cheek into her hand. Eventually, he said breathlessly, voice still uneven, “You speak to me—and touch me so informally. As if you kn-knew me.” Another shuddering breath. Defeat. “Princess _Allura_.”

The name slipped off his tongue as if in a prayer, soft and awestruck.

He dared to stare into her eyes, the shreds of his soul open and vulnerable. “Princess Allura,” he said again, as if he could not yet believe that he was staring at the last member of the Altean royal line. The direct descendant of the ancients he had studied.

She was _alive_.

In almost an embarrassed self-consciousness, her fingers slipped from his face. She’d forgotten that this Lotor had never met her in his entire life. He was the prince of the Galra empire—broken and abused or not, she was being terribly intimate with him. She did not want to raise difficult questions. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you quite scared me there. I will not touch you so informally again if it disturbs you.”

Those bright eyes of his blinked, and loss flickered across his face for a second as his breath settled down into a normal rhythm. Then, confusion—his entire understanding of the universe had just flown out from under him—tore through him.

The princess must have sensed his shifting emotions, because she jumped in quickly, her voice soft, “I will answer any question you have. I will keep no secret from you.”

“Haggar,” he demanded. “How far—? Where are we—?”

“We’ve brought this ship to a planet settled well within the belt of the Voltron coalition,” she said soothingly. “The witch cannot find you here.”

His lips struggled for words as he gaped at her. No planet was far away enough to escape Haggar’s eye. Freedom was not possible.

This princess of Altea could not truly be that naïve.

Unless…

“Voltron?” he breathed, his yellow sclera widening. It was too good to be true. “The paladins.”

“Yes,” she nodded, a more natural smile relaxing her face. “We have Voltron.”

His scarred face twisted. “Scattered,” he disagreed, a wince coming over him. His head hurt from using magic and from hyperventilating. He leaned even heavier into his pillows, closing his eyes. “To p-protect it from my—” his throat dried out.

He could not say the word _father_. He choked on the air, rasping again.

The princess briefly pulled away to grab a glass of water from a nearby counter top. “I’m sure you need to drink something,” she told him worriedly. “Can you lift your head up? I do not want you to choke.”

Lotor opened weary eyes at her as he tried to swallow, but the air seemed too rough to do so. He could not speak.

Her voice grew pained. “Then I will help you. But please do not try to attack me.”

And then her strong fingers slipped through his hair to cup the back of his head. He tensed but withheld his instinct to lash out his claws. He watched her with suspicious trust. She had not yet taken advantage of his weakness yet.

As she raised him up a bit, she gently pressed the glass to his lips.

He opened his mouth, weakly revealing his fangs. It pained his tight harvesting scars, but he longed so desperately for water that he pushed through.

And cool, pure water slipped against his tongue. He moaned in want for it, closing his eyes to savor the feeling of the liquid as it kissed his dry mouth. He swallowed hard, a trail of water escaping from the edge of his mouth to drip onto his chest. He did not even care. The drink Princess Allura offered him did not taste of engine discharge like the water he’d lapped up like an animal in Haggar’s lab.

He tried to drink the entire glass, but the princess gently pulled it away from him. “You need to breathe,” she said, almost in a tease.

Lotor was breathless as he stared up at her, his crackled lips shining wet. His skin seemed to glow a bit healthier, the tightness of his skin smoothing. He moved to speak.

But then a crackling noise—from a communication frequency—erupted between them.

“ _Princess Allura?_ ” came a stressed, male voice. It seemed vaguely familiar to Lotor. “ _Hey, you there?_ ”

She sighed, gently helping to lean Lotor back against his pillows. “I’m a bit busy at the moment, Keith.”

“ _We just found something back in the lab. You need to see this_.” The concern in Keith’s voice made her tense.

“What is it?”

“… _It’s something that we need to talk about in person._ ” In other words, it was not something for Lotor’s ears as well. “ _Preferably sooner rather than later._ ”

The princess hesitated for a tick, and then she said, “I’ll be right down.”      

Lotor’s breath shuddered into a huff as he stared up at her. His head still leaned back against the wall, his neck too weak to hold himself up. “Do not go,” he said. He tried to sound royal, disciplined. It came out as more of a plea. “Do not leave me here.”

Allura’s lips pulled with pain. “I’m sorry, but there are still so many strange things with this ship; I’ll return shortly,” she promised. “Just rest for now.”

His large, skeletal palm shakily tried to reach up to her. “Princess.” If she left him, then he feared everything else would leave him too—and that somehow, it was all still a strange dream.

She slipped away from his reach. “I’m sorry. You will be safe here, and I’ll come back soon.” Her teal and purple eyes looked him over once before she began to dash out the door, leaving him in the silence by himself.

* * *

Allura arrived outside the lab in a huff, eyeing the boy waiting for her. “This had better be good,” she complained. “I was _finally_ breaking through to him about my identity, and—”

Keith gave her an apologetic look as he grabbed her hand and rushed her forward. “—I’m sorry princess, but you’ll want to see this.”

The doors to Haggar’s lab had been permanently pushed open, with a transport conveyor belt lining the whole section of the ship from the lab to the nearest exit port. “Is this Alfreda?” she dared to ask, glancing around. The conveyor belt was silent, but had several boxes resting upon it, as if it had been turned off suddenly.

“Yep,” the half-Galra leader said. “We shut her down so we could think. She’s kinda loud, for different reasons.” With his free hand, he pointed toward the darker edge of the lab, which had a storage closet. The other paladins, including Shiro and Coran, were standing in wait for them.

Keith let go of Allura’s hand and said, “Ok, so we were pulling out all this junk. Like, old generators and test tubes.”

“And, for the record,” Hunk cut in, “there’s some creepy stuff. Like a decapitated head of a—what was it, Coran? Like a shark thing?”

Coran hummed and stroked his moustache. "It reminded me of an Altean broad-nosed bruck." 

“And I thought it was more like a lizard,” Lance added in, waving his fingers around his chin. “With a beard or something.”

Shiro ran his hand through his gray hair and sighed. “Either way,” he pressed, “we also pulled out this surprise.” And then he tilted his chin.

Pidge was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a scanner, next to an empty harvesting pod. It laid on its side, its glass front smashed open. “Its design matches up with the four other pods. I can confirm there’s traces of DNA on the glass that align with the DNA in the bone samples we took from the clones.” Her eyes tensely scanned the readout on the device. “A clone of Lotor was in this one too.”

Allura blinked, her mind racing for a moment. She stared at the broken glass for a time before she said hesitantly, “…Perhaps a clone who got away?”

The unspoken addition, _The clone who is the Lotor we know_ , hung in the air.

Keith nodded. “It’s more than that, too. When we tried to lift the pod, it’s like…it didn’t want to be lifted.”

The princess’s eyes narrowed. “What? But it’s just a pod.” And she walked closer to it, kneeling. With great curiosity, she reached out her hand and touched it. The metal nearly sparked against her hands with some remnant of Haggar’s power. She quickly recoiled, eyes wide. “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Lance deadpanned, still rubbing his own hand. “It bites.”

Allura looked up at him suddenly in concern. “Did it tell you anything?”

“…No?” His brows furrowed. “Wait, did it tell _you_ something?”

Allura’s breath hitched. “Yes. It’s—it’s not like a direct command, really. It’s just an impulse. A slithering at the base of the spine, A sort of paranoia and a hunger for…things. Haggar must have infused this pod with a corrupted quintessence from herself.” Her mind raced again. “Which meant whoever was inside—”

“—Was being drained of their natural quintessence and taking up the wrong kind,” Pidge finished. “But if you can still feel Haggar’s power from this thing, that means it wasn’t a finished job.”

The princess stood up, almost haunted. “We must destroy this immediately. It carries a very dark will with it.”

Shiro reached out to her, grabbing her hand. “Princess?” he asked suddenly, his golden-brown eyes narrowing at her in concern. “Maybe you shouldn’t touch it again.”

Allura swallowed hard, gripping onto his hand with trembling fingers. “I think you’re right.” A chill shot through her. “I…feel a bit sick, actually.”

Although the power had not infused inside of her, even the feeling of its existence was enough to make her squirm. It was the same feeling she’d carried in the pit of her stomach when first fighting Haggar, so long ago.

Shiro squeezed her hand. “Ok, guys. The pod’s off-limits to everyone at this point.”

Coran took the opportunity to stand in front of it and draw with a pen from his back pocket an unhappy face with Xs for eyes. "Stand back, everyone. This is the sign we used to draw on Altean houses with plague in it. Just in case no one gets the reference." 

Hunk crossed his arms. “I’m totally on board with avoiding this thing. But how do we destroy it if we can’t even touch it?”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not something we want on one of our ships,” Keith added, scratching at the stripe on his face. He sweat-dropped. “Or anywhere.”

Hunk hummed. “Maybe I can build some arms for Alfreda. Then she’d be self-loading and could pitch it somewhere safe, like the Olkari's incinerator."

At that, Lance face-faulted. “Oh, come on. You're gonna build arms now that we’re almost done loading? You gotta be kidding me.”

Allura wasn’t even listening but instead was in a daze. She swallowed hard. “So Haggar corrupted him,” she whispered. “That would—that would explain how the Lotor we know was two-faced. A part of Haggar was influencing him the entire time. He might not have even known.”

Lance turned back to her. “Wait, hold on a second, guys. Bigger question: Is it at _all_ possible that maybe the Lotor we’ve got _hanging out in the infirmary by himself right now_ has been in one of these possessed pods?”

The thought made several on the team tense.

That snapped Allura back to attention. “I would have felt it, when I opened my mind to his,” she said, shaking her head. “No, he does not have an imprint of Haggar within him." 

Her mind still rattled with his desperate, feverish plea _—“Punish me, not them, punish me, not them—"_

“And I think we’ve got something else to consider too,” Pidge said hesitantly. She scooted on the floor and offered up her scanner to Allura. “My radioactive carbon dating analysis just finished up. My computer sent me a report.”  

Allura gently released Shiro’s hand to accept the small computer. On it was a series of numbers and graphs. “What does this all mean?”

“So, you know I carbon-dated the samples we took from the three other pods,” the younger girl said, pushing up her glasses. “The carbon-14 is depleted around 62 percent in each of them. Since the half-life of carbon is 5,730 years, this means the three other clones we found died between 8,500 and 9,000 years ago.”

Allura looked dazed. “Which means the real Lotor would have been cloned at least 9,000 years ago, for those clones to have died when they did.”

“Exactly.” Pidge bit her lip. “The Lotor we’ve got in the infirmary would have to be the original one.”

Her breath hitched. “Which means he’s _telling the truth_.” She swallowed hard, feeling a gnawing sense of relief sink into her bones—as well as a deep pain. She handed Pidge the computer back. “Nine-thousand years as a prisoner. I cannot even fathom it.”

“I can’t even count it,” Lance muttered, looking unsettled.

Shiro looked around at the team. “As much as that might be good news for the coalition, that also means we’ve got a serious gap in his memory to fill. And he might not like what we have to tell him.”

“You make a good point, Shiro.” Allura looked out at her team, eyes pleading. “The Lotor we have in the infirmary is unstable. And very, very weak. He might not take any news about clones or crimes well at all.”

“So…keep all this on the down-low?” Hunk summarized.

“For now,” the princess said, nodding. “It’s important that we focus on establishing positive emotional ties between him and us.”  

With that, Lance groaned. He crossed his arms in a pout as he leaned against the wall, muttering, “Man, there goes my fun. And I can’t even hate the guy because he really _is_ just another victim, like Shiro.” He then let out a mournful sigh. “Bummer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! Thank you so much for the continued interest in this story. Your comments help to keep me inspired. This chapter was a bit more plot-based and team-centric, but I tried to get a good hurt/comfort scene in anyway. (And I love writing Dayak, omg.)
> 
> Also, I didn’t know until this evening that it’s Lotura Week? So happy Lotura week! 
> 
> Please let me know if you’d like to see more, and if you have any specific requests! Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following people for reviewing last time: Gabriel, Liaka_lucid, mutedtempest, CampionSayn, Nagisa, SpinningGround, anything_past_or_present, UltraFirelily, looneysue, EllieDoll, TiffanyBlue, MalevoLiss (MissLissa1), Blazingku, Reilly, sleepyscribbles, Amanda, octopus_hatred, cataclysmofstars, Sachi, Gyogyo, HiddenPanda13, Biqui, hiiraeth, KokoaKirkland, Kyndall, and reyechan! I really appreciate it! Several of you have commented with questions about Alfreda’s song, so please see end notes for more information on that. 
> 
> UltraFirelily: I definitely plan to have more Pidge and Lotor interactions, and generally more Lotor-Paladin bonding!  
> Kyndall: I’m glad this story could make your difficult day better, and I hope things are going well for you now! Thanks again for your support.  
> Amanda: You ask a really good question about why Haggar exploited her son. I promise I’ll answer it in future chapters! And I love the idea of Allura giving Lotor magic lessons, omg. That really would be adorable!

Back in the infirmary, one prince of the Galra empire had managed to shove himself off the bed. He’d hit the floor hard in a crunch of limbs and a twist of blankets, a noise of pain catching in his throat. He lay there on his skinned knees and elbows for a time.

He could still hear Dayak’s voice in the back of his mind, almost worried—

_“My prince, you will not survive long if you cannot handle pain.”_

Lotor rasped for air as he dutifully pulled himself forward. Hard claws slammed into the metal tile, his skeletal hands shaking. The white sheet slipped from his body, and even the sheet moving against his scarred skin suddenly felt like nails raking down his back.

_“For the mind to learn, the body must be broken.”_

“Ngh.” He inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as he shuddered. His harvesting scars pulsed from his face all the way to his legs. His matted, white hair hung down his cheeks in straggles as hung his head. His claws tightened into the metal tile.

And then he forced himself forward again, his bright eyes feverish.

With Princess Allura gone, he had only a short time to act. The ship was stationary, but that did not mean all was right. It was possible she was withholding information or deliberately deceiving him.

Lotor was the son of the beast who had murdered her father and her people. He knew things—had done terrible things.

No princess of Altea would so freely rescue and care for him, unless there was a great benefit involved.

Likely, Princess Allura sought to ransom him back to the Galra empire in exchange for captured Alteans. She was easing him into a false sense of security, strengthening his life force in order to show Zarkon and Haggar that their greatest shame was now in her hands, alive. Capable of spilling all of their dirty secrets about the empire.

Lotor rasped for air. He knew too much. His father would never allow such a status quo to continue and would take the bait of ransom, just to kill him.

It would be an undignified killing. He would probably have every bone broken and then have his throat slit, with his body hanging naked in the courtyards to signify the consequence of being captured by the enemy, a form of high treason. Even the children would throw rocks at his corpse.

Victory or death.

_“Vrepit sa!”_

His body shuddered in pain as his arms and legs shook. He thought briefly back to Princess Allura’s hands touching him, stroking his face, catching his tears. Her comfort was such a beautiful illusion still. Perhaps she simply did not understand what the Galra would do to him upon completing negotiations.

Or perhaps she did. And this was her way of apologizing—to offer a final honor upon his body for his impending sacrifice to save her people.

His claws hooked into the wall at the edge of the infirmary room. His mind swarmed with feverish, incoherent thoughts. He had to escape. To find resources of his own—to hide beneath the radar of both the Galra empire and the reforming coalition against it.

It was the only way to survive.

_“You dishonor me,” Dayak snapped, knocking the sword out of his awkward hands. “Move faster, hit harder. Do not ever stop pursuit. What do you not understand about this, you silly boy”_

Lotor’s skeletal and broken fingers were digging into the metal of the ship, his claws buried into the riveting as he rasped, his eyes wide. He forced his broken body up, using his claws to leverage his weight.

He reached up to the window.  

And then he heard it. The door to the infirmary slid open, and a female gasp echoed out. “What are you doing?” cried out one Princess Allura of Altea.

Lotor’s heart sunk frantically. Escape was no longer an option.

In a blur, the princess dropped down beside him to pull him away from the partially shredded wall, her hands grabbing for his waist.

His claws dug harder into the metal, and he curled his knuckles. The metal began to bend and cut his fingers. “No,” he rasped. His blue eyes were deep with a feverish madness. “No.”

He had to see freedom—even just a glimpse—

Allura, in a flinch, quickly released him at his snarl. “B-but what are you—?” It was then she realized what he was aiming for. The large window in the middle of the wall was closed off by a metal plate.

“You want the window open?” she said, incredulous.

With a final struggle, Lotor heaved his body up to plant his large palm against a button. And then the metal cover retracted to reveal bright, white light. It bathed his pale, scarred face in the sun, his pupils contracting hard. His lips pulled into a grimace of frustration as he attempted to see beyond the light, struggling to adjust.

And then, suddenly, he saw it. The ship was truly not hovering in space around a sun, nor settled in a Galra-occupied station. Instead, it was in the middle of a great field, with trees and a clear blue sky.

Land.

His desperate energy waned into awe, his claws slipping out of the metal.

Princess Allura surged forward, and her strong arms hooked around his waist once more. “I’ve got you,” she said, voice halted. She slowly lowered them both to the floor, kneeling with a grunt at the awkward angle of his limbs and of the tangle of the bedsheet around their feet.

He leaned back against the princess, fully spent. His claws—most of them broken now—sunk back into broken fingernails, his fingers bloody from the sharp edges he’d punctured in the metal. His breath came in short rasps, his throat burning as though he had run for several vargas.

But it was worth it. His sunken eyes stared out at the greenery beyond the window in awe. It was the closest he had been to trees—real trees—in an incalculable amount of time.

Princess Allura’s voice vibrated into him like a gentle wave. “If you wanted the window open, you could’ve just asked.” Now that she knew this Lotor was different, she added, “This is Olkarion, the coalition’s capital.” 

He was so enraptured with the window, his eyes dazed by the sight of green, that he did not realize the princess had shifted him slightly to lay her hands over his. Her warm cheek brushed against his temple as a soft, purple glow slipped into his bloody, trembling fingers, knitting up the cuts.

They remained that way for a time, with the warm sun bathing them in light.

Lotor’s shuddering breaths slowed, his fragmented mind clinging hard to the vision of life outside the window. His voice evened out into a smoother baritone. But it carried an edge of a plea. “Before you sell me back,” he said breathlessly, “I should like to be outside. Just for a time. You know I cannot run.”

“…What?” Her eyes narrowed, her concentration breaking from healing him. “ _Sell you_ back?”

He closed his eyes, his harvesting scars tightening across his face. “You saved me for a purpose. What else would you do with the son of Zarkon.” 

The hopelessness within him made her struggle not to pull him closer. She was already encroaching on her previous promise not to touch him informally, and so she pulled her hands away from his. “Or maybe,” she said, voice tight, “I saved you because it was the right thing to do.” And then she proceeded to brace herself to lift him up. “Now, come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

His face twitched in an odd way, even as she wound one of his arms around her shoulder. As they stood together, he noticed for the first time that the princess was a full head shorter than he was. It unsettled him for a time that she was so small, and yet so strong and powerful. “The right thing to do,” he repeated in disbelief, his voice hitting a ragged edge. “Princess, I am no innocent party.” 

Allura paused. The way he said _princess_ was reverent and pained. She wondered why he would not think himself innocent—and found it curious that he would even say as much. It was a far cry from the Lotor they’d left behind in the rift. “We’ll talk about that later,” she said firmly.

His voice was growing more disjointed again as they stepped toward the bed. “Then you want information,” he concluded. “I am your prisoner.”

No matter how far she got with trying to earn his trust, it seemed his suspicions always lurked in the corner.

She sighed. “You are not a prisoner. And if you must know, the Voltron coalition hopes that you might _willingly_ provide us information. Eventually.”

The light in his eyes began to die. So, it was an exchange after all. Nothing was free—his life for information. His free hand leaned onto the bed. “And what will you do,” he dared to challenge, “when I give you nothing? Will I be a prisoner then?”

The princess paused. A deep sinking in her heart made her tense. “What do you mean, nothing?”

He added with a snap of pain, “Perhaps your care is a sham, simply learning the construction of my mind—to rape it later of what I know, if I do not comply. I am a pawn either way.”

Her jaw dropped. “How _dare_ you suggest something so low of me.” She, a bit more forcefully, pushed him back onto the bed. She grabbed his broad shoulders and stared him hard in the eye.

He stared back wide-eyed.

“Let’s get something straight,” she retorted. “I’ve influenced you to sleep several times because you were otherwise two ticks away from killing yourself. And the only other time I connected my mind to yours was on _your_ demand.” Her eye twitched, and she poked his chest, her nose only inches away from his. “I would never, as you say, rape someone’s mind.”

Lotor’s blue eyes searched hers suspiciously. “Then what will you do with me, if I do not provide what you seek?”

Allura sighed, and it came out as a frustrated groan. Her hand slipped from his shoulder. “I don’t know—I’ve not thought that far.” There was almost a whine in her voice. “Can you not see that I am _truly_ trying to help you? Why are you making this so difficult?” 

Her behavior seemed to align with the soul he’d felt within her memory. No matter what curve he threw at her, she responded in a predictable way with no crack in her goodwill. And yet… “There is no altruism,” he rasped in disbelief. “There is no freedom. Not for me.”

The princess inhaled sharply. As she stared at him, her eyes began to water. “You are so twisted,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper. “You’ve suffered so much if you mean that.”  

Lotor tilted his head then, eyes guarded. “I am your enemy. The son of Zarkon. You will sell me to save your people. I know you will.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she retorted sharply. She blinked away tears several times. “I am trying to save every innocent soul I can, including you.” 

His face cracked in an odd way. In his many years of life, no one had ever said they wanted to save him. “I am the _son of Zarkon_ ,” he said again with incredulity.

Allura eyed him hard, pained. “And I value you as I would my own people. I will not ransom you back to the Galra empire. You’re free now, whether or not you help the coalition’s cause.”

“But I could not be free.” His beautiful voice broke. “I am n-never—” A noise escaped his tight throat. His mind fragmented as he stared up at her, bewildered. He wanted so terribly for her to be real—a singular ally in the void of his existence. But he could not process the possibility.

He tried to inhale to speak again, but words caught in his throat. He suddenly felt dizzy.

The princess helped to steady him as he weakened. “Lotor,” she said in worry, “please do not work yourself into yet another panic.” She pressed a hand against his bare chest to keep him from swooning forward, her other hand settling on his shoulder. A miserable amusement worked into her. “You’re making it rather difficult not to touch you informally.”

He leaned into her, allowing his cheek to press against her arm. He was still struggling to breathe. “—F-forgive me, princess.” He was dishonoring both himself and her.

_“Do you want emotional ties, my son?”_

His Galra blood desired the structure she offered. His Altean blood begged for her comfort. His eyes squeezed shut. He did not want her to pull away. He feared that her words were still somehow an illusion—that this would be the last chance he had to feel comforting touch. “Forgive me.”

The princess’s miserable amusement gave way to sorrow. “There is nothing to forgive.” With her free hand, she reached up and began to hesitantly stroke his hair to calm him. Her calloused fingers carded through the matted locks in a rhythmic pattern. “Just focus on breathing for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” he rasped. He rapidly tried to blink away emotion from his eyes as he stared out into a corner of the room, leaning on the princess more and more.

And they remained that way for some time.

Eventually, her calm voice vibrated into him, a bit merrier than before. “How about,” she said softly, “we get you off this ship?”

He didn’t even realize her hands were glowing until he was already drifting off to sleep.

* * *

 

_A bruised Lotor limped into the throne room. His small body was stiff beneath the proud lines of his princely attire, which had been pressed and smoothed by the castle servants. There was nothing to be done about his injuries, which were evidence of his training under Dayak._

_He carefully kneeled before his father’s throne, dwarfed by the surrounding shadows. “Great father,” he called out, his young voice a soft echo across the hall. He bowed his head. “You asked for me?”_

_His father’s glowing, purple eyes beheld him with little emotion. His large fingers tapped in a slow rhythm against the throne’s armrest. “Dayak has spoken to me,” he said, “of your progress in the art of war.”_

_Lotor tensed as he stared at the floor. “And what did she say of my progress, great father?”_

_“That you excel above your peers in fencing and strategy.” The shadow of his father shifted. “I am pleased with this news.”_

_The small prince fought to control the quiver of relief in him. Zarkon was in a good mood._

_“Come closer, Lotor. Stand before me.”_

_Hesitantly, the boy raised his chin and chastised his shaky, stiff limbs into a proud stance. He could not hide the flush of shame upon his face, knowing that his father would see his bruises. Signs of failure. Of Imperfection._

_The emperor narrowed glowing eyes at the small, ungainly boy before him. He leaned forward. “However.”_

_Lotor swallowed hard, staring into his father’s face with wide eyes._

_His father’s gravel voice—like a boom of thunder—struck deep fear into him. “Dayak also reports that you often attempt to create emotional ties with her.”_

_The boy remained frozen._

_Zarkon’s large, clawed fingers reached out and touched Lotor’s cheek. “Do you want emotional ties, my son?”_

_The boy closed his eyes, leaning into his father’s touch. “I do like them,” he admitted, voice small. It did not bode well to lie to his father, who always seemed to know the truth._

_And then suddenly, the hand pulled away. Lotor opened his eyes just in time to see his father’s fist flying through the air, and—_

**_Crunch_** _._

_War-hardened knuckles crashed into Lotor’s mouth; the boy’s vision went white as he fell backwards in a flail of limbs and spurt of blood. He crumpled like a doll to the floor._

_The servants around the throne room looked down, tense and uncomfortable. No one moved to help the fallen prince as he lay there for a time, dazed. His mouth was a bloody mess, several of his baby teeth wiggling loose as his swollen tongue pressed against them. His eyes were dilated in pain, quickly watering. Do not cry, he told himself. Do not cry. Do not cry._

_Zarkon tilted his head. “Get up,” he commanded._

_His fingers twitched as he rasped for air. He realized then that his father had also clipped his nose, which was bleeding as well. It was all he could do to force himself onto his hands and knees, and then with a wince, stand. His breath shuddered as he stared at his father in deep fear._

_The emperor narrowed his eyes. “A lesson for you, my son. Allies do not exist. Emotional ties are weaknesses. Any bonds you may have as a result of lineage or of association are liabilities.” He waved his hand in the air and said, “You are in pain now because you assumed an emotional tie between us. But such an assumption is why I could strike you.”_

_Do not cry, Lotor thought desperately as his eyes watered from the pain. Do not cry._

_“Now leave me.”_

_The small boy very stiffly bowed, his face beginning to swell. He felt hot and cold and dizzy. He could not remember turning around or placing a hand over his mouth to stop the bleeding. He could not remember walking out of the throne room in a daze._

_All Lotor remembered was the sight of Dayak standing out in the hall, her strong arms crossed. Something in her face looked pained. “It had to be done, Prince Lotor.”_

_For the first time, his eyes hardened against her._

* * *

 

This time, Lotor awoke to the sound of whispering voices.

“…Should we tell him that we used Alfreda to transport him here?” A male voice.

A whispering child. “No, I think it’s better if he doesn’t know.”

“…Okay, so we probably shouldn’t tell him that we dropped him by accident then, huh?”

“Yeah, if he says his head hurts, then we’ll just blame it on—oh, he’s waking up!”

Lotor groaned, his white eyebrows knitting together as he slowly came to. By the time he opened his eyes, two blurry faces were leaning over him, staring intently. Most everything appeared white in the background.

One of the faces was familiar—small and pale, with wild, brown hair and glasses. “Hey, can you hear me?”

The disoriented prince struggled to narrow his eyes in concentration, but the surrounding whiteness made it difficult. “Your voice—” he said, his own tone still rough with sleep. He blearily tried to sit himself up in bed. The attempt was surprisingly easier than he’d recalled in the past, his hands and arms steadier. “The green paladin,” he added suddenly.

The human girl’s face came into focus, her small face a mixture of happiness and anxiety. “You remember me?” She laughed nervously. “Oh boy. I hope that’s a good thing.”

The surroundings were slowly coming into view. He was in a bright, sunlit room on a large bed. It seemed to be another infirmary of some kind, but the walls were patterned knots of tree roots with wide, open windows to the outside.

Lotor touched his chest and realized that he was wearing some kind of soft, loose clothing. It was all white and more pristine than anything he’d worn in a long time. In the sunlight, it seemed to glow. 

“Where am I?” he demanded in panic. He turned to the other face in the room. “And who are you?”

The other person looked to be human as well, but he was significantly taller and more rotund than Pidge. He wore a great amount of orange and yellow and had dark skin. “The name’s Hunk,” he said easily. “Team chef, lover of burritos, and paladin of the yellow lion—in that order. Also, you’re in the Olkari infirmary, since Princess Allura said you about killed yourself just to open a window back on the ship. Which I can kinda understand because this planet’s a walking nature park. Like, who wouldn’t want this view.”

Pidge looked over at Hunk and teased, “You mean this is an _orbiting_ nature park.”

“Well—yeah. Orbiting. Walking. Totally the same thing for a planet.”

Lotor blinked at him several times, bewildered once again by the inane conversation that surrounded him. “Where is Princess Allura?”

Pidge and Hunk looked at each other for a second, and Pidge hesitantly answered. “She’s asleep right now.” She tensely readjusted her glasses, as if waiting for Lotor to snap at her. “We’re here to take care of anything you need while she gets some rest.”

“And to see if maybe you’re hungry,” Hunk added helpfully. “Since you kinda look like you haven’t eaten in, like, centuries.” 

Pidge elbowed him, giving him a warning look not to spill how much time the prince had lost while imprisoned.  

But Lotor was hardly listening. His eyes narrowed in curiosity, and then self-realization, opening wide. _He was not in pain_. With increased vigor, he pulled back the open sleeve of his shirt. His arm—still thin and skeletal—had much lighter harvesting scars than before. When he clenched his fist, his muscles and nerves responded smoothly without pain, even to a point where his joints did not ache. His blunt nails were smooth, as if he had never broken them.

“Fascinating,” he murmured in awe, turning his wrist. It was such a simple thing, not to feel pain. “She healed me even further than before.”

 _“I value you as I would my own people,”_ her voice echoed in his mind.

But as his muddled memories caught up to him, something unexpected happened: his stomach gurgled in desperation for food.

He tensed.

“The stomach has spoken,” Hunk declared, raising his arms. “Translate its language for me, man. Tell me what sounds good—I’ve been dying to try some real Galra cuisine. Please tell me you guys have a cuisine. Or a cuisine that isn’t like, drinking the blood of your enemies or something. The Olkari totally don’t have that in their kitchen.”

Lotor looked to Hunk, somewhat overwhelmed by the human’s rambling. It took him several seconds to unravel the meaning behind the prompt. He concluded slowly, almost in disbelief, “You are…offering me food?”

“Anything you want,” Hunk said seriously. “Do you have any food allergies? Gluten intolerance?” He scratched his head. “There’s still so much about the Galra I don’t know. Your palate is a mystery to the universe, lemme tell you. Except for Vrepit Sal’s—but then that wasn’t really food to begin with.”

“Hunk, I think you’re scaring him. Stop it.”

“Hey, I’m just making sure I don’t accidentally poison him or something.”

The tired prince upon the bed stared at Hunk, his bright eyes searching the boy’s face for his intentions. He was far less guarded than Pidge but seemed quite a deal older. The combination was a curious one.  “I have eaten dirt before to keep myself alive, paladin,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever morsels you offer me will be…greatly appreciated. I care not what it is.”

For a time, Hunk’s eyes searched his in a distant kind of horror, and he gaped open-jawed. “Did you just say you’ve eaten dirt?”

“Yes.”

The yellow paladin paused for a second, then said, “If dirt’s your standard, then we have some serious food work ahead of us. I’m talking multiple taste-tests. Breakfast, lunch, snack time, and dinner plates. Desserts too.”  

Pidge elbowed him. “Maybe you shouldn’t do anything too crazy?” she warned lightly. “Allura said he might not be able to handle—”

“—Allura, shmallura,” Hunk waved her off, looking wildly like a determined soldier going into battle. “This is DEFCON one on the scale of food emergencies. We have a poor man here whose stomach is the size of a peanut and thinks dirt is a food group. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” And then he flickered his brown eyes to Lotor, giving him a hard salute. “Don’t worry. Your taste buds are in good hands, I promise.”

Hunk stood up from his chair, mouth set in a mission. He began rolling up his sleeves as he walked away, as if going into battle.

“Princess Allura said bland foods!” Pidge called after him worriedly. “ _Bland foods_!”

“There is no such thing!” Hunk called back.

Pidge stood up, her face in a flush of fear. Her voice grew a bit shrill in panic. “I’m _not_ holding another bucket for him again! Don’t you dare make anything too rich, you hear me?! Or _you’ll_ be the one holding the bucket!”

But Hunk was gone, along with his cheery air.

That left Pidge and Lotor alone, and the green paladin looked over to him in a state of nervousness. She sweat-dropped. “Uh. Um.” Her face was still flushed from her emotional outburst.

The prince readjusted himself on the bed with a wince, in order to sit up a bit straighter. His white hair seemed to have regained a little of its luster and fullness, and so his characteristic strands fell into his face. “So now _two_ children are paladins of Voltron?” he murmured in disbelief. “Will the surprises never cease.”

She swallowed hard. “Hey, I am not a child,” she retorted. “I’m fifteen. That’s like, almost an adult.”

Lotor’s intelligent eyes locked onto hers, catching the sunlight. Like this, his irises deepened from a near-violet to bright blue—and they were terribly sharp with calculation, despite the dark circles around his eyes and the general weakness of his body.

It made Pidge squirm beneath his gaze, as if he were looking at her under a microscope, trying to measure something.  

Eventually, the sharpness of his eyes softened into exhaustion. He humored her. “Almost an adult?”

The young girl sat down with a huff. She pulled her computer from the bedside table and opened it up with a rough snap, her face flushing once more. “It’s called being a teenager—a stage of life between child and adult. By definition, that’s what I am.” And then something seemed to strike her, and she looked up, narrowing her eyes in curiosity from behind her glasses. “Do your people not have a middle stage like that?”

The question was a terribly innocent one—something he did not expect from a paladin of Voltron, who likely despised his kind. He tilted his head in distant consternation that he was not chained down in a cell, being tortured for the secrets of his father’s empire. Instead, here he was, indulging the inane questions of a child, propped up in a bed that felt like a cloud. He desired to savor it for as long as possible. “No. The Galra do not acknowledge such a…middle stage.”

Pidge pushed up her glasses, forgetting about the open computer on her lap. “Really? But I mean, it’s not like the Galra are babies who then magically turn into full-grown adults.” She paused. “…Right?”

His lips stretched and revealed white fangs. His voice was even smoother now, carrying more strength and vitality behind it. “Ah, you mean to differentiate between physiological changes and cultural interpretations of such. Then, yes—a Galra child matures in stages, but culture acknowledges only children or adults.”

“Seriously? So what defines that change in your culture?”

He paused then, feeling oddly comfortable with this girl-child. “…Why do you have such an interest in my people?”

She shrugged. “I like learning. Also, I’m trying to figure you out.”

Lotor gave a noise of amusement, but the action made his weak lungs squeeze. He coughed lightly into his hand, still feeling that his lips were raw and cracked. “And what do you hope to discover, paladin?”

Pidge looked down at her computer, beginning to type. “With any luck, that you’re at least halfway sane. And the name’s not ‘paladin.’ It’s Pidge.”

“Just Pidge?”

“Just Pidge,” she deadpanned.

Lotor’s eyes steadied upon her with increasing curiosity. “…Very well, then, Pidge. But why do you scorn your honorary title?”

The human girl’s face twisted. “My what?” 

“Your title as a paladin of Voltron,” he said, searching her eyes. “Given your status, it is disrespectful of me to address you by name alone.” He quirked a white brow. “I should especially hate to be impolite to the one who held a bucket for me.”

She began to sputter in surprise at the Galran prince. “B-but I mean, I made fun of you on the ship. I made you freak out and cough up _blood_.”

Something about her uneasy, shamed expression reminded Lotor of a younger version of himself, whenever he had tried to hide a bruise upon his face. He did not like that expression upon Pidge, who was very much still a child despite how she longed to be seen as otherwise.  The prince waved her off her concern. “You did not drain me of my life force.” A miserable amusement glinted his eyes as he leaned his head back against the pillows, beginning to wear out again. “And perhaps I _did_ want Princess Allura to babysit me.”

For a time, Pidge stared at him in consternation. And then, very slowly, her small face lit up. A line of tension relaxed in her shoulders, and she leaned forward a bit. “You remember me saying that?”

“I forget nothing,” he promised. “I also recall someone over your communicator —now that I think of it, who rather sounded like the paladin Hunk—say I would need to wait in line.”

The human girl snorted. “Well, he’s not wrong. Princess Allura keeps busy between babysitting the diplomats from the coalition planets and helping us pilot Voltron.”

That made the prince pause. His eyes sharpened upon her with a genuine surprise. “The princess is also a paladin of Voltron?”

“Yep.”

His face twisted in disbelief and awe. He struggled to sit up a bit straighter in bed. “Surely, you jest.”

“…I jest not,” Pidge deadpanned.

“But she is Altean,” Lotor pressed. “The last of the royal line—by piloting Voltron, she would have revealed her presence to the empire. My father would assassinate her in an instant.”

The human girl knew better than to say anything about Zarkon’s demise, and so she deflected, scratching her cheek. “I mean, _Voltron_ is a target, yeah. That’s kinda what we do. We’re all targets at this point.”

“Does she pilot the black lion?”

“Nope. She pilots Blue.”

That made Lotor feel only slightly better, but he found himself still worried on her behalf. “And you all allow her to endanger herself in this way?”

Pidge grew a bit short. “No one tells Princess Allura what to do. We did the whole, ‘Oh, but you’re a princess,’ thing in the beginning, and she made us eat those words. She’s saved our lives a hundred times over. And I don’t know what she can bench press, but she’s crazy strong too.”

With that, the prince fell silent, looking away thoughtfully. Then he turned back to Pidge and said, “You are very loyal to the princess, to defend her so.”

The girl pushed up her glasses and shrugged. “I’m just telling you the truth. But I mean, we are a team.”

“And do you trust her with your life?”

“Of course. We’re paladins. We fight together, we get in trouble together—” Pidge looked even more curious now. “Why would you ask that?”

The broken prince stared into the girl’s eyes, noting how terribly innocent she was about how depraved beings could be. “And she has never betrayed that trust.”

“Never.” Her face twisted.

“Even though you are an earth child, and not her kind—she has never betrayed you.”

“…I’m kinda feeling like a broken record here,” she deadpanned. “Princess Allura’s legit. Don’t diss her, okay?”

The man paused, realizing that he was once again being quite rude to his kind captor. “Forgive me,” he said suddenly. “I have difficulty understanding the concept of trust, although I recognize other species enjoy it so freely.”

The admission made Pidge fall silent too. She grew somewhat awkward, unable to stare at his scarred face for long. “Yeah, well. We have trust here.”

A long silence stretched between them. The girl moved to look back down at her laptop, biting her lip.

Lotor pondered her expression, wondering if he had insulted her somehow—truly, he did not yet understand humans or their culture. They seemed terribly more willing to express and feel emotion compared to the Galra. Perhaps trust to them was a deeply valued construct. In either case, he did not want to upset a potential ally and so tried to find a possible common ground through which to regain a connection. “Could I prevail upon you,” he said gently, “to describe the technology that so catches your attention? It is not a design with which I am familiar.”

Pidge’s cautious eyes looked over her computer to land on him. A little, hesitant flicker of interest rose upon her face. “You wanna know about my computer?”  

The broken prince gave her a rueful smile. “It has been a long time since I have had the opportunity to learn.” He ran a hand over his aching, gnawing stomach. “…I could also use the distraction.”

* * *

 

By the time Hunk returned with a plate of food, Pidge was animatedly in the middle of explaining the history of earth technological innovations and how the space age ultimately gave birth to the digital age. She stumbled only when trying to convert earth time into measurements that Lotor could understand.

The pale, broken prince upon the bed was easily entertained by Pidge’s lecture, delighted to find himself in the presence of a kindred intellectual. He now understood how she’d come to be a paladin of Voltron despite her young age, and he marveled at her. “Fascinating,” he murmured, peering down at the computer she’d allowed him to hold in his lap. He lightly touched the screen, discovering it was responsive, opening up some kind of program. “And all of this—or the basis thereof—came as a direct result of less than one-hundred earth years of innovation. That is nearing an exponential level of progress.”

The computer seemed in ways structurally primitive compared to the Galra interfaces he knew. But as he peered at the screen, narrowing his eyes, he noticed its functions were highly advanced and adaptable for different activities. The programming script was not familiar to him, but he could pinpoint repeating patterns and symbols, as well as predetermined spaces for opportunities to adjust the code.  

He supposed it was logical that human technology would mimic its creators. Outwardly simple. Unadorned. But yet internally complex to the point of challenging even some of Haggar’s lab technology.  

He rather liked that thought. Perhaps that was why at least two of the five paladins were human.

He looked up at Pidge curiously. “Do all humans have such access to this technology? And to this…internet of which you speak?” 

Pidge was in the height of her glory, preening as she leaned by the side of the bed to show him the source code programming the bootup sequence. “I built this computer myself, so its programming is a lot more individualized than what most humans—”

The door to the infirmary flew open. “—Lunch!” Hunk declared loudly. He came in bearing a lap tray, as well as a larger tray of food. “Who’s hungry?”

Pidge was the first to look up, slightly disappointed at the interruption. “Oh, but we were right in the middle of talking source code.”

The boy approached the bed, searching for a place to set the lap tray. “Which is more important, Pidge—programming or saving a stomach from digesting itself?”  

She whined. “Ngh. _Both_. It’s both.”

Hunk turned to Lotor. “Has she talked to you about modulating gendocams yet?”

The prince said, staring up in bewilderment at even the concept, “I do not know what that is.”

“Okay, good. Because for the record, the answer is that single modulation is totally acceptable.”  

Pidge shut her laptop and moved it away from Lotor, allowing Hunk to set the lap tray down before the prince. “It’s double modulation _for everything_ , thank you very much.”

“Waste of time,” Hunk said merrily. “And you know it. Which means I win this argument.” Before Pidge could protest, he added to Lotor, “So, the Olkari are mostly vegetarian, but I figured you’re a carnivore, you know, with all the fangs and claws.” He began loading a few plates onto Lotor’s lap tray. “In which case, I’ve got grilled Ominari—it’s a fish—topped with a yunadian spice flower sauce. And maybe a serving of earth rice that I was keeping for myself, but you know. Priorities.”

Lotor’s free hand was already tightly gripping the tray, his claws sunken into it to ensure it stayed within range. The broken prince stared at the food, his stomach aching like a black hole within him. “All of this…is for me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, man.” He held out a fork to Lotor. “It’s all yours.”

The prince swallowed hard, his mouth already salivating. He accepted the fork the way a feral animal would respond to someone holding out food—cautious, suspicious. He pulled it close to him as well in instinctive fear that it would be taken from him.

He quickly cut off a piece of the fish and lifted it into his mouth. And that was when his royal poise ended. His eyes widened, and he made a noise of pleasure without even thinking about it. He had never tasted anything so delightful in his life. The yunadian spice flower complemented the fish in such a way that his tongue buzzed for more. It warmed his face to a deeper lavender as he swallowed in awe.

“You like it?” Hunk asked, clasping his hands together.

“Yes.” His voice had roughed. And then suddenly his pupils slit in an odd way, his lip baring back to reveal his fangs— ancient Galran instinct to attack prey. He dug his fork in ferally. The juices slipped down his mouth and chin as euphoria overwhelmed him.

Not even the fish bones stopped him, and he instead crunched them hard in delight between his fangs.

Pidge’s face tightened in worry as she sat back. “Uh, Hunk? Can Galra eat bone?”

“I have no idea,” Hunk said quickly, leaning forward in awe, “but I’d think he’d stop if he couldn’t. His stomach must be made of _steel_.” 

The conversation brought Lotor back to reality. His slit eyes suddenly relaxed into their more Altean-like pupils as he swallowed, locking his gaze onto the two paladins who were staring at him in vague shock. Lotor paused with his fork mid-air, and his lavender cheeks flushed a bit. He realized then that he must have looked like a savage.  

With great reluctance, he forced himself to slow down, even though his stomach still cried out for _more—more—more—_

His fingers shook with the difficulty of self-control, as did his voice. “This is…quite delicious.” His tone was halted in a struggle to preserve his dignity over his desperation for more food. The fork visibly trembled in his hand. “I have never—tasted anything like it.”

Hunk pressed his lips together, his brown eyes darting back and forth between Lotor’s skeletal face and the fork in his hand. “You, uh, gonna be okay, man?”

The fork trembled harder. “M-may I please have another plate?” came the soft request. “After this one?”

It fell silent in that room for a time, the weight of the prince’s question sinking into the hearts of both paladins.

And then Hunk saluted him, a tear in his eye. “You got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I think one of the hardest aspects of writing hurt/comfort is trying to keep the character realistically in character. With Lotor, it’s increasingly difficult because I’ve peeled away so much of his canon personality by virtue of his circumstances. I do hope that he still seems like Lotor, though? Like realistically, I hope this is how he would likely act after 9,000 years of imprisonment/torture? Idk, haha. I kinda struggled writing this chapter. 
> 
> As a quick content note, DEFCON 1—as mentioned by Hunk—is the United States’ highest military defense alert (basically, preparing for nuclear annihilation). 
> 
> The theme of Alfreda playing songs will return, so let me know if there’s a particular song you think I should consider for tormenting (ahem, I mean, enlightening) our lovely crew and their purple space elf.  
> Also, thank you all so much again for your reviews. It means a lot to see familiar names coming back. Please let me know if you’d like to see more of this story!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following awesome people for reviewing last time: IndiiBrownFlowerCrown, Gabriel, Phydia, Nagisa, Mistmoon12, TsukimiDai, Lyra, anything_past_or_present, octopus_hatred, EllieDoll, TwoHeartsAreBetterThan1, UltraFirelily, hiiraeth, KokoaKirkland, NickyADon, Amanda, TiffanyBlue, Red, AMountainFullOfDragons, wolf_feather, Leopardbreath, Touched, Hiakari_natsume, Lucy, Kyndall, rosesoftheempire, and Smallblaa! I really appreciate you all, and again I’m so excited to see many of you returning to review once again! That means so much. 
> 
> A lot of you are asking really awesome questions and providing feedback I’d love to respond to, and I’m afraid my author’s notes will become excessively long if I continue to post review replies here. So, after some inspiration from Lucy’s review (Thanks, Lucy!), I’ve created a Voltron-centric Tumblr. I’ll post review replies to your questions there beginning now and hope to share story notes, head canons, and other fun Lotura things I find. 
> 
> The link for Chapter 4 review replies is here: https://the-second-law-ls.tumblr.com/post/175683728693/the-second-law-replies-to-chapter-4-reviews 
> 
> Thanks again for all the support and kudos!

Keith was asleep, cuddled alongside his space wolf on the couch. His mouth hung open as he unwittingly drooled into the wolf’s fur, his dark hair in a tangle around his striped cheek. He was exhausted after a long day of unloading cargo from the stolen Galra ship and working through the implications of protecting Lotor.

As he slept, the wolf’s large paws twitched with dreams as well.

On the other side of the room, Romelle sighed. She turned away to kneel by the fireplace, and she dropped a few more pieces of wood into the flame. The wood crackled, merrily shooting out sparks to dance along her arms.

Bandor, she mused fondly, had loved fire.  

It was such a sudden, simple thought that she did not realize the implications of it until it was too late. Her purple eyes burned with tears, and she quickly pulled away, falling back in a twist of skirts. Her warm hands trembled, suddenly feeling the shrunken, skeletal curve of Bandor’s cheek as she desperately tried to wake him up from death, the fire surrounding them in a blaze—

The Altean woman’s breath hitched for a time, unable to separate her memories from the peaceful present. Her heart pounded as she stared into the fire. And then suddenly, there was a shimmer of light to her side, and she turned in surprise to see Keith’s wolf had teleported to her. Its dark head hung low with sleep, but its intelligent blue eyes were staring at her as if it knew the depths of her emotional turmoil.

He pushed a cold nose into her tear-streaked cheek.

Romelle pressed her lips together tightly as she suddenly embraced the wolf, hiding her face in its warm fur. Her blond hair shifted as its muzzle came to rest upon her shoulder. Her whole body trembled with the memory of Bandor’s horror-inducing face, lit by the fire.

“…Romelle?”

She tensed.

Keith’s voice was rough with sleep as he sat up, and he yawned hard, blearily blinking at her several times before he could focus on her face. Then concern lit into him. “Hey, you okay?”

“I am well,” she whispered, her watery tone muffled by the wolf’s fur.

The boy sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that.” Then he wiped his mouth, his face flushing a bit in the realization that he had been drooling. “You’re really bad at lying.”

The Altean woman tried to steel her emotions, squeezing her eyes shut hard before pulling away from the wolf. “I am well,” she said again, her voice wavering. She looked up at the half-Galra boy, who had first rescued her and believed her about Prince Lotor. And yet, he had sided with Princess Allura’s campaign to save the Lotor they’d found on the Galran command ship. “I was just cold and came to sit by the fire. Then I thought of Bandor, and it was such a fleeting thought, but it…” Her breath hitched. “It stuck with me.”

Keith paused for several seconds. The weight of several worlds settled upon his innocent shoulders. “Romelle—”

“—Why are we keeping him here?” she demanded suddenly, her eyes watering all over again. “Why do you allow your fellow paladins to fawn over him so?”

“You saw it for yourself,” the black paladin said, voice soft. “Prince Lotor’s a victim too. We can’t just lock him up in a cell for something he didn’t do.”

The Altean woman’s jaw set. She knew from previous conversations that the Lotor currently enjoying the company of Pidge and Hunk was not the same Prince Lotor who had cannibalized her people. “It is _his_ face,” she said haltingly. “It is _his_ mind. And therefore, it is only a matter of time before he reveals himself as a monster once again.”

“The Lotor you knew—he’d been corrupted by Haggar somehow.” Keith still blearily rubbed his face. “We really don’t know what we’ve got yet with _this_ Lotor. I’m more worried he’s gonna hurt himself at this point.”

Romelle blinked, her face streaked with tears. “And I am to welcome him with open arms like your fellow paladins? Or like Princess Allura, who so worships his image that she nearly drained herself for him today?”

Keith nearly groaned. “No one’s asking you to do anything with him.”

“So then I am trapped,” she said, breath hitching. “He is in these very halls and will inevitably see me. But if I run to the forest, I will find him again, buried three times under the Tree of Life. Like s-some honorable warrior.” She wiped her face, standing up in a flare of her skirts. “I cannot stand it. I cannot stand it anymore.”

The paladin stood up, reaching out to her. He did not like to see anyone in pain.  “Romelle, look. I know this is stressful. We’re all just—kinda winging it here.”

“—What are we winging?” came a third, exhausted voice, echoing down the hall. From out of the wooden doors appeared a tired-looking Lance, who wore a robe and pajama pants and sported wet hair, as if he had just come out of the shower. He yawned. “Because I don’t think I can wing anything without, like, a good six hours of sleep. Hey, Romelle.”

The woman gave him a weak wave. “Hello, Lance. We speak of Lotor and what to do with him.”

The red paladin blinked at that and then snorted tiredly. “I dunno, probably knit him a sweater or something.” He turned around to the counter, where Ryner’s people had so appreciatively set out snacks for the paladins and their crew. “Hunk was making him a fish dinner earlier.”

Romelle begged Lance, “And so we just accept him? Like that?”

The other boy leaned over the counter, pondering over the various snacks and trying to decide which one looked closest to regular human food. He settled for a puffed, grainy bread. “Well, I’m not planning on singing Kumbaya and getting matching tattoos.” There was almost a depression in his movements. “My plan’s to stay as far away from him as possible.”

Keith sighed and said to him, “We’re gonna need you to help on guard duty at least a couple times until we know we can trust him not to run away or hurt himself trying.”

“I know,” Lance whined. “I know—don’t remind me. I’m enjoying my freedom while it lasts.” He munched into the puffed bread, only for his face to fault when it suddenly fell flat. He chewed it anyway. “But Shiro’s taking first shift, right?”

The sun was setting outside now, the summer day darkening into deep blues and purples.

Keith nodded. “Yeah, he will once Pidge and Hunk leave. If for some reason the Galra try to get their ship back, then I want the core team rested up and ready to fight.” And then he rubbed his stomach, looking up in hesitant hope. “…Did you say something about a fish dinner?”

* * *

 

Lotor was still sitting up in his bed, leaning heavily against his pillows. He was pleasantly full, the food settling well within his stomach. Already, the simple action of eating had brightened his skin further, making him appear more youthful. The lines of his face did not seem quite so emaciated as before.

A line of plates sat upon the nearby counter, with Hunk still in amazement as he began to pile the dishes on top of one another to take back to the kitchen. “Man, where did you even put all that?” he asked. “Do you have an auxiliary stomach or something?”

The prince had the grace to look embarrassed, his face tinging with a blush. He scratched his chin, his long fingers running along a harvesting scar. “Not quite.” He was still tempted to ask for one more plate but had decided against it to avoid making himself sick. As it was, he did not think he could eat another bite, but his quintessence-starved body was still begging for any form of concentrated energy.

Pidge was back on her laptop, only halfway listening as she pulled up a checklist she’d typed up from Princess Allura. “Maybe Galra have higher metabolism in general than humans?” she supplied.

“Would totally explain all the crazy amounts of food goo they stored on their ship,” Hunk mused. “Maybe you’re onto something.”  

Lotor’s content eyes gazed beyond the paladins to the windows outside, watching the sun set in rapt attention. “I do look forward,” he murmured distractedly, “to one day trying these…earth desserts of which you speak. If you should be so inclined to continue indulging me.”

The yellow paladin looked absolutely devious, waggling his eyebrows as he stared at Pidge, who then stopped him.

“We should hold off on sweet things,” Pidge said hesitantly. “At least until we know you can handle the basic stuff. But…maybe in a couple of days?”

The prince turned his head to face her and relented, “A sound judgement.” He placed a thin hand over his full stomach, still in awe that he could feel full. That he could feel soft sheets and cool air and the sound of voices that were not hostile. “What will you do with me in the meantime, then?”

Pidge did not look up from her computer. “You’re staying right here for the night. You’re pretty shaky just standing up, so this is gonna be your room for a while.” She began muttering under her breath as she ran her finger down the screen, darting her eyes around the room. “Okay, so water glass—check. Extra blankets and pillows—check. Trash can—check. Door to the bathroom unlocked—check.”

Lotor watched her curiously. “Are you both to leave me?”

The thought was almost disappointing. He quite enjoyed the distraction they offered him.

Hunk apologetically raised his hands and said, “I like a good sleepover with ice cream and chic flicks, but I got orders that I need to sleep tonight in case of, you know, imminent Galra attack. But I’ll be back tomorrow morning, probably with some squalia berry pancakes. You ever had pancakes? Or squalia berries?”

Lotor shook his head, somewhat concerned that he understood only a portion of the words Hunk used sometimes.

“Okay, then. You. Me. Squalia berry pancakes, tomorrow morning.” Hunk shuffled the plates on the tray. “I gotta clean up the mess I made in the kitchen before I go to bed, so I better get on that. Night, man.”

The prince blinked in surprise at the well wish, so casualty thrown his way. Was this common human behavior, to so openly favor strangers with statements of camaraderie? “I wish a good night upon you as well,” he said slowly.

The yellow paladin’s face lifted in a genuine, sunny smile. “Hey, thanks.” And with that, he scooted out the door, making an odd cacophony of clinking dish noises as he moved, his orange headband tie waving behind him.

Pidge stood up after she completed the full of her checklist. It was beginning to grow darker in the room, with the sunset deepening to dark blues and purples out the window. “Ok, so I think we’ve got everything you might need tonight. But Shiro will be here soon to stand at your door, just in case.”  

Lotor’s eyes snapped to her. “…Shiro?”

“Yeah, he’s another paladin. Or was—he’s kinda trying to retire; it’s a long story.”

The prince kept his voice even despite the increased race of his thoughts. “Is he to function as an armed guard?”

She looked hesitant. “It’s safer for all of us this way. You could still be a target for some people, and Princess Allura didn’t want us to leave you alone in case you got sick or something. Shiro’s just gonna sit outside the door and keep watch. He won’t come in or anything unless you need him to.”

Lotor said blandly, eyebrow raised, “…A diplomatic response.”

And, of all things, the human girl’s lips stretched into a smile as she readjusted her glasses. “Thanks,” she said merrily. “I’m getting better at it.”

* * *

 

A short while later, the paladins—minus the still-sleeping Princess Allura—grouped together in the kitchen, away from the infirmary. Hunk was in the middle of washing dishes, wearing a particularly colorful apron borrowed from an Olkari cook.

“Okay, guys,” Keith said, sitting at the counter with a dinner plate in front of him and a fork in hand. His voice was muffled with food. “What do we know about this Lotor?”

Next to him, Shiro spun some chopsticks in his hand and deftly stole a chunk off Keith’s plate when he thought the boy wasn’t looking. He stuffed the rice in his mouth and chewed silently.

Keith’s sharp eyes turned to him and glared half-heartedly.

“Well, as you know,” Hunk said, drying his hands on a towel and throwing it over his shoulder, “Lotors are an incredible amount of work.” He ticked off his fingers. “They require lots of sleep, lots of food, and a lot of sunlight. They have separation anxiety if they go too long without seeing a Princess Allura, and—”

Pidge elbowed him. “—Basically, he’s nonviolent. He asks a lot of questions and still seems pretty weak.”

“He’s kinda flinchy too,” Hunk added. “Like, don’t move fast around him.”  

“But he’s intelligent,” the girl added. “Really intelligent. He was already beginning to understand and _critique_ earth programming in ten minutes. We shouldn’t play that down.” She looked almost jealous. “He also said he doesn’t forget anything, which means he probably does know a lot about Haggar and the empire that we could use to our advantage.”

On the other side of Keith, Romelle wielded a fork and stole a piece of his fish, munching thoughtfully.

He looked up and glared again, whining at how the whole team was conspiring against him. “Hey, that was mine.”

She looked down at him as she swallowed and then said primly, “I need a distraction to keep my mouth occupied from disagreeing about Lotor’s usefulness.”

Lance leaned on the island counter, playfully waggling his brows. “I can think of other ways to keep your mouth occupied.”

Her beautiful face twisted, and she asked innocently, “Do you have more fish or snacks?”

The boy then stared back at her, his waggling brows freezing into an awed consternation. “Uh—n-no. That’s not what I was—you know what, I—”  

Pidge lovingly kicked him.

“Ow,” Lance whined, narrowing his eyes at him, face flushed. “I was just about to say _never mind._ Geez.” He pressed his lips tightly together in a flushed frown as he rubbed his abused shin. “It was just a joke.”

Pidge deadpanned lightly to Romelle, “Don’t worry, we’ll have him trained eventually.”

The boy face-faulted. “Hey.”

“Okay, guys,” Shiro cut in, raising a white brow. “Let’s focus here. It sounds like this Lotor is compliant for now, which is good. We need to know his information on Haggar as soon as possible, now that she’s the one calling the shots for the empire.”

Keith spoke up. “The Blade of Marmora messaged me earlier, saying that Haggar contacted Sendak and his band. She’s uniting forces behind the idea that we murdered Lotor.”

“Which, I mean, she’s not wrong,” Hunk added in a mutter, twiddling his fingers nervously. “You know, rift and all. Taking their nice command ship with all the food goo.”

Shiro murmured, his brows knitting together, “But she _knew_ about the clones and the Lotor powering the ship. She was the one who put him there. So none of this is a surprise to her, which means…maybe she wanted us to find the pod. To have this particular ship fall to us.”

Pidge’s eyes shifted uneasily, and she stood up. “So then the harvesting pod really was a double trap,” she said quickly. “If a warp to Olkari didn’t kill us, then it meant we’d drain him. Right? Then we’d have his dead body—”

“—And she’d start the next phase in the Galra empire’s campaign against the Voltron coalition,” Keith finished grimly. “Probably make it sound like we took the ship and put Lotor in the harvester ourselves. That kind of accusation would destabilize a lot of allies.” He suddenly looked down at his plate in nausea. “Especially if she hides all the evidence of the Lotor who went insane.”

Lance looked pensive as he leaned forward. “Whoa, whoa. So you’re saying that the scary lady is like, a bazillion steps ahead of us, with backup plans?”

Shiro looked uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Lance waved his hand in the air incredulously. “But he’s _alive_! The real one is still alive down this hall—all we’d have to do is flash his face in front of the camera, you know? Then everyone would know she’s crazy.”

“—It’s not that simple,” Shiro said. “Haggar likely anticipated a possibility that Lotor would survive the harvesting pod, however remote. He’s a pretty serious chess piece to just throw away on chance.”

Pidge looked concerned. “And the Lotor we’ve got—there’s no way he could pretend like nothing’s changed. He looks half-dead and is missing a big chunk of memory. If Haggar’s already raised red flags against Voltron, then waving him in front of the camera is just gonna make people think he’s not even real.”  

Keith was tapping his fork on his plate in thought. “So then what was her play if he lived.”

Lance moaned and ran a hand down his face. “Man, I dunno. Conspiracy theories make my head hurt. Isn’t it enough that we saved the guy?”

Shiro said slowly, “If this Lotor knows as much as we think, then Haggar won’t stand for him to remain under our protection. She might mobilize assassins or a retrieval squad once she realizes he’s still alive. It’s important we stay vigilant against an attack.”

“Which means we all better be getting rest while we can,” Keith said.

“Exactly.” The retired paladin’s expression grew a bit rueful. “And I guess I better get to my post.”

* * *

 

That night, the exhausted Lotor slept on the infirmary bed for the first time without Allura’s aid. He’d already fallen asleep by the time Shiro appeared to stand guard at the door, but his dreams were not kind to him. His face twitched, as if anticipating a strike. His skeletal fingers tightened hard into the blankets.                                   

_“You know it as well as I do, mother,” a nearly grown Lotor said hesitantly, watching her type away onto a holographic interface. “The Galra empire is taking all the quintessence it can without allowing the natural supply to replenish. No planet can reasonably sustain the—”_

_The woman beneath the hood suddenly raised her blue, clawed hand. “—Quiet.”_

_Lotor’s mouth snapped shut, not of its own accord. Uneasiness flickered across his face as his breath froze. He raised a hand to his throat._

_She lowered her hand, and the feeling of her choking him dissipated._

_“You are interrupting my work, child,” she snapped. Her face gleamed a midnight blue from the screen as she turned to glare at him. Her full-yellow eyes glowed with restrained hatred. “Again.”_

_He swallowed hard. “Mother,” he said in a plea. “I fear for the stability of the empire, and I desire your counsel.”_

_The records stated that Honerva was his mother, but the woman before him sometimes told people her name was Haggar. It was becoming an increasingly common event._

_Beneath her hood, the woman tilted her head, shifting her long white locks. “In what way do you fear for the empire, my son?”_

_The boy—slowly becoming a man, his shoulders broader and limbs longer—raised a datapad to her. “The mining upon planets Strayix and Bowlu,” he offered. “We are taking more quintessence than is possible for the planets to regenerate. I estimate no less than twelve billion people will die within the next century if we maintain current mining output.”_

_The woman’s sickly, blue hand pulled the datapad from him. “And what of it?”_

_Lotor blinked. “Twelve billion people will die,” he repeated slowly. “Unique ecosystems and species will become extinct forever.”_

_Two, glowing yellow eyes honed on him. He took a cautious step back._

_Suddenly, he did not think he was speaking with his mother._

_“The empire,” said Haggar, her voice a sharp rasp, “is not defined by its number of subjects or ecosystems. We will continue expansion at any cost.”_

_“But—”_

_“—Expansion is paramount,” she interrupted with a hiss. “That is the purpose of the empire. We must expand at all costs.” Those eyes of hers wavered upon him as she walked up, searching his face. He was taller than her now. “Do you still feel emotional attachments to others, despite the training of the palen-bol?”_

_The young prince raised his chin. “It is not emotional attachment to question how the empire will sustainably expand.”_

_The jaunt of defiance in his tone made the woman’s thin lips press hard together into a grimace. “My son,” she murmured, her rough voice sharp with disgust. “You are losing your way, to worry about such things.”_

_He took a step backward in caution. “M-mother—”_

_Her voice modulated oddly, as if it were suddenly not her own. “—My son,” she said again, reaching up to him with her skeletal hands._

_Lotor grabbed onto her wrists, swallowing hard. “Do not touch me.” He did not trust her when she was like this. She was careening more and more in the strangest of ways._

_His mother’s face cracked a bit. A strange sorrow seeped through her. “Do not question,” she whispered. Her voice seemed almost soft, the yellow of her eyes giving way to almost something like pupils. There was a great struggle within her as her wrists trembled in his grasp. “We just—j-just want you to be safe and warm.”_

_His long fingers loosened upon her as he stared at her in consternation._

_The woman before him swallowed hard, her face still twitching in odd ways. “You must understand—quintessence is needed to preserve—” Her voice roughed— “to preserve…”_

_He tried to pull away from her, but she lurched unsteadily. He caught her in his arms, eyes wide. “Mother?” His breath hitched._

_Her claws dug into his sides, puncturing through the rich material to scrape his skin. She was shaking, and the air seemed to warp around them in an unsteady way, her quintessence field shuddering. “S-safe. And warm.”_

_Lotor looked up in fright, scanning the lab. “You are having another episode. That is what this must be.” He swallowed hard, face twisting as he took on more of her weight. “You have overworked yourself again.”_

_“Sacrifice,” she rasped into his shoulder, her yellow eyes blown wide, the pupils gone. “To repl—to replenish an isolated—system.”_

_He winced as her claws dug into his side, cutting his skin and drawing blood. He unsteadily tried to kneel, taking her with him by wrapping an arm around her waist. It was the closest to a hug that he could ever remember. “I am going to call a healer,” he said, voice halted. He tried to dislodge her claws from him. “You are very ill.”_

_Her voice roughened further as she rasped, “Entropy. Entropy—”_

_The young prince’s face was in a sharp twist of pain as he finally managed to free himself. He gently lowered her to the floor, her hood falling to reveal her distorted face, still twitching. “Mother,” he breathed in panic. “Please stop. Please stop all of this.”_

_She inhaled shakily, reaching up blindly. Her fingers trailed across his face and slipped down to his chest._

_And then suddenly, she stopped murmuring strange words. Her full-yellow eyes focused on him in a great hatred._

_“No,” she snarled._

Lotor’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding as he tried to sit up in bed. His movements were jerky and disoriented. He gasped for breath as he unwittingly tangled himself further in the blankets, feeling caged by the cold sweat that made everything stick to him. He blinked rapidly to rid himself of tears. “M—Moth—”

He choked up, his voice dying away in his throat. His skeletal arm shook.

His trembling hand came to rest upon his chest, feeling for a rough scar below his sternum that starburst outward toward his ribs. He could still feel the pain—the pain from her hateful power—

Suddenly, Lotor felt a presence in the room, along with the sound of a shutting door. “—Prince Lotor?” came a concerned, deep voice.

Watery blue eyes swiveled up to the sight of a human in the armor of the black paladin of Voltron. The being was tall and strong looking, with silver hair. He was raising his hands up, as if to show he meant no harm.

A human.

“Paladin,” Lotor rasped in recognition. He swallowed hard, feeling suddenly so out of control. He barely knew where all of his limbs were at—the façade of a disciplined prince was already ruined, and in its place was that of a fragmented child. It was then he realized he was still rubbing his scar in an obsessive manner. His hand froze, and his face flushed.

His father’s voice echoed _—“You dishonor my name—”_

“I heard you panicking,” the paladin said gently. “I came in to make sure you were okay.”

The prince on the bed was silent for a time, save his ragged breaths that he desperately attempted to school into deeper inhales. “I am fine,” he said, voice halted. He looked down, his body bowing over, his wild hair falling against his shoulders. In that moment, something in him looked like Haggar—distorted and broken. He closed his eyes, swallowing back hard emotion. “I am f-fine.”

Shiro, hands still raised, moved closer. “Do you always dream like this?”

Lotor’s weary eyes looked up at the paladin. “I prefer,” he said roughly, “not to dream at all.” He wiped his eyes, still breathing unsteadily. He sat up in a stiff way, pushing back his shoulders to regain a respectable posture.

“Are they flashbacks to something?”

The prince narrowed his gaze. In the dark, the prince’s eyes nearly glowed yellow, the sclera bright with tears. “It matters not what they are.”  

The human sighed. It was then Lotor realized that one of the man’s arms was robotic—glowing with green lines in a similar way to the Olkari walls. “I know a thing or two about flashbacks.” His eyes leveled with Lotor’s. “I know they can ruin a night’s sleep and make you feel like you’re crazy. I know they can haunt you for days afterward.”

Lotor’s breath hitched. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “No. I am in control,” he said, mostly to himself.

“I don’t think you are,” Shiro said.

“Do not speak of this to anyone,” he said quickly. “Especially not to the princess. I can offer you something in exchange for your silence.” His face twisted when he remembered that he had nothing to offer.

“You don’t need silence,” the human deadpanned. “You need help.”

By then, the prince’s shuddering breaths had calmed, but his heart still pounded, his hands still gripping the bedsheets hard. “There is no help for one such as me.”  

Shiro leaned back on the counter, crossing his arms. His armor clinked with the action, catching the moonlight from the windows. “I’ve been captured before,” he said, voice halted. “Torn apart. Made into a puppet, you name it. I volunteered to take first shift with you because I still can’t sleep without nightmares of my own. So trust me, I get it.”

Lotor watched him, staring with a suspicious trust. “You would so easily admit a weakness to me?”

Like Pidge, the prince thought. It was a wonder Voltron stood at all, with its paladins so oddly open to their enemies. And this black paladin—he seemed so aged for a human and yet so young at the same time. Surely, his decision to admit to nightmares was a calculated one. It had to be.  

“Flashbacks aren’t a weakness,” Shiro said. “It’s just biology.”

“What do you mean.”

“I mean, flashbacks are a sign that there’s something you haven’t worked through yet. And that’s okay.” Shiro bit his lip. “There’s this thing you can do, called grounding. The goal is to reset your mind on the immediate present instead of the past.”

Lotor hesitated, still blinking away the tears in his vision. “I do not require the palen-bol.”

“The what?”

“The enlightening pain,” the prince said, raising his chin. “To be struck so as to reset one into the present. Is that not the process of which you speak?”

The paladin blinked, and his face twisted. “Enlightening pain? What? No, no. This is something else. No pain, I promise.” His eyes searched Lotor’s with a bit more guarded concern, as if trying to figure him out. He added slowly, “What you do, when you find yourself having a flashback, you start taking inventory of the things around you. Structures, people, colors. Anything you see or hear to engage your sensory cortex.”

With a shaky inhale, Lotor pushed himself back against his pillows. His face was tight, his harvesting scars glimmering from the tear-tracks that still ran down his face. “That seems too simple to be effective.”

“It doesn’t fix the underlying problem,” Shiro admitted. “But it can keep you from a full panic attack.” He pulled out something from a section in his armor. “For me, I listen to the outside. You know, get back to nature.”  He unraveled a cord with two buds at the end from around a small, glowing device. Then he moved forward and offered it to Lotor. “You can borrow this tonight.”

The prince’s elfin ears tentatively perked, his eyes sharpening as he stared at the unfamiliar technology resting innocently in the paladin’s palm. “What is this?”

“It’s music and nature sounds from Earth.”

A curious awe overcame Lotor. He leaned forward, his thick hair shifting, and he grimaced as he forced his body to work. He reached out and plucked the device from Shiro’s hand. The metal was warm with human heat. “This device carries recorded transmissions of such frivolities?”

The thought had never occurred to him, or to anyone within Galran society, to record anything other than military messages and statements from the emperor.

It was such a novel idea, to record music and nature.

“How do I make it work?” he murmured, peering at the buttons on the light, little device. He gently pressed a clawed finger to the center button, and suddenly, soft noise resounded from the buds at the end of the cord. His elfin ears flicked, and he blinked in surprise.

Shiro struggled to hide an amused smile. “They go in your ears. They’re called earbuds.”

The prince pulled on the cord, dragging the earbuds closer. “Fascinating.” With a shaky hand, he lifted one up and peered at it for a time before hesitantly lifting it to his ear and pushing it in.

His yellow sclerae widened, and his thin, cracked lips opened in awe. He stared up at Shiro as if the man were a magical being.

“Pretty cool, right?” Shiro asked, smiling.

He quickly inserted the other earbud, grasping for vocabulary of any kind. “It is—an—I hear an ocean,” he said in awe, looking in that moment much younger than he was. “You have an ocean with you.”

The noise from the earbuds was a soft rushing sound, like water kissing a beach. He could hear rustling of leaves—the distant sound of rain in the background.

A little piece of paradise in his hand.

The volume was low enough that he could still hear Shiro’s voice over it. “I’d…better get back to my post,” he said gently. “You can keep that player tonight.”  

Lotor stared at him, the stress lines in his face easing. These strange paladins of Voltron had offered him more kindness in the last several vargas than he had received in centuries. “Thank you, black paladin,” he said, voice raw.

“It’s just Shiro,” he said lightly. “And I’m really not the black paladin anymore. I’m just…backup whenever they need me.”

Once again, it seemed these humans downplayed their honorary titles and authority. Lotor found that to be especially peculiar of the black paladin, who shared such a title with Zarkon himself. But he relented out of respect for the paladin’s wishes. “Very well. Thank you, Shiro.”

The man softened. “You’re welcome.” He then moved toward the door.

Lotor reached out, “Wait. Please.” 

Shiro hesitated and turned back around.

The prince pulled out one of the earbuds, and he swallowed hard. “I should like to maintain what is left of my honor before the others. I will owe you a great debt to remain silent on my behalf.”

For a time, there was a pause between them. And then Shiro said, “There’s honor in asking for help. But I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.”

He then left Lotor by himself in the infirmary room. For a time, the prince stared at the closed door, then at the empty room, where the moonlight bathed everything in a soft light. “Honor in asking for help,” he repeated in disbelief, the words entirely foreign to him. He glanced back down at the music player in his hand.

It was a curiously magical thing, simple in design. And yet it held an entire world that sounded so peaceful.

Had the black paladin _honored_ him in offering it upon seeing his weakness?

Lotor leaned backed on his pillows, shifting away his white hair as he placed the earbud back in his ear. He swallowed hard. For a time, he clenched at the blankets and ran his fingers over the music player, fully convinced that somehow it was still all a dream.

He was so enraptured with the sounds that all thoughts of Zarkon and the witch and dishonor faded away like silk into a stream of water. He could imagine the waves crashing against the rocks and found himself entertained to consider what an earth beach would truly look like.

Soon enough, the last of his stress slipped from his muscles, and he relaxed fully on the bed, drifting into sleep, his heavy cheek sinking into the pillow. Shiro’s mp3 player remained loosely cradled in his palm, his white hair curling around the earbud cord. As the hours passed, the sounds of earth nights turned into the soft, traditional music of Japan—and his lips pulled upward in his sleep, his dreams innocent, carrying wisps of Hunk’s laughter and Pidge’s excited chattering.

* * *

 

Around seven in the morning, one Keith tiredly yawned as he plodded his way forward, his hair in a messy tangle. “Hey, man,” he greeted Shiro. “How’d it go last night? Anything happen?”

The man looked up from the bench where he sat. His eyes were ringed with tired circles after a night of staying up, but he gave an easy shrug. “Nothing much,” he lied. He stood up and handed the black bayard back to Keith, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Let Lotor wake up on his own, okay? He needs it.”

Keith gave him a curious look, searching his eyes. He lowered the bayard to his side. “What, you got a soft spot for him now too?”

“I just…like to look out for people.”  

The boy’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Yeah, I know that.” He elbowed the man. “But we gotta start getting questions answered. Think he can handle it today?”

“Maybe.” Shiro bit his lip. “But I don’t think we should be the ones to ask.”

“Who, then? Pidge? Hunk?”

Shiro shook his head. “Hunk’s easy to sidetrack, and Pidge can be…too intense sometimes. I think if anyone’s going to get sensitive information out of him in an effective way, it’ll be Princess Allura. And even then, he’ll be guarded about personal experiences.”  

Keith peered in through the window beside the door and saw the broken prince curled up in the blankets on his bed, still asleep. Shiro’s music player—the man’s most coveted possession—was loosely held in Lotor’s palm, the earbuds still in his ears.  

His eyes slid back to his friend. “So you talked to him.”

“…Yes.”

“About what?”

Shiro shrugged. “He couldn’t sleep. I figured it was an opportunity to create a positive emotional bond, like Princess Allura suggested. Speaking of which, is she up yet?”

The boy nodded, still in awe that Shiro had offered up his music player. “Yeah. Kinda dead-eyed still, but I think she could operate Blue if she had to.”

“And she’s not here yet to check on Lotor? I’m surprised,” Shiro said mildly.

Keith sighed. “She stole some bread and then went outside. You can probably guess where. Also, if you’re loaning out your music, I call dibs on it next.”

* * *

 

At that time, one Princess Allura stood in the early morning light by herself. Her face was haggard with exhaustion despite sleeping over half a day, her long hair in tangled curls down her shoulders. The breeze ruffled her Olkari robe. It was the most unkempt she had ever been, but she had a feeling her audience would not mind. “I know this is a bit silly,” she announced to the air, voice still ragged with tiredness. “Death confers a particular separation between those who live and those who do not, in a way that not even ancient Altean alchemy can explain. But…”

She stared at three freshly dug graves beneath the great Olkari tree, which bloomed with purple flowers. “I felt I should visit you,” she whispered.

The wind picked up around her. There was no velvety male voice to murmur in response—no familiar male huff in amusement.

Her voice strained. “I should have visited you before now, and I feel terrible about it. I do hope you understand I’ve been in a fret to keep the remaining one of you alive, and then myself alive as well. And then I had to fight with Coran about walking here on my own—he’s been so very protective and worried lately. He sat outside my bedroom door all night, just in case I needed him. Can you believe that?”

Again, no response.

She clasped her hands together before her, swallowing hard. She was rambling. “Well. I am pleased to see that Lance spoke the truth about your resting place. It is very nice here, under this tree with all of the flowers. Very peaceful. Just what I’m certain you’d like.”  

Her memory triggered up an image of the dead bodies hanging in the harvesting pods, their faces twisted in agony—

Copying a soul was treason upon Altea, for the very reason that a clone would not differ from its progenitor. She knew that the clones that had his thoughts. Could feel his pain. Shared his intelligence. She swallowed hard. “Despite what the Lotor I know has done, it very much…hurt to see you so—”

Her voice trailed off. Mutilated? Agonized? Decayed?

Allura’s breath hitched. “If there is any justice in this universe, then I hope you are with the Life Givers now. Oriande was strangely silent on these matters, perhaps because it was designed to preserve the secrets of life—not that of death.”  

The princess paused respectfully, as if waiting for an answer.

Her voice strained as she added, “I could not find my mother or father in Oriande. Only a collective mindset of the ancients, like an artificial intelligence.” Her fist clenched as her eyes began to burn. “So I'm afraid I'm not sure yet where souls go. There's always stories about that. Theories..." 

The sun had begun to rise higher in the sky, casting bright light upon the valleys and the nearby stream. The tree’s purple flowers seemed to glitter as their petals yawned open in delight of the sun.

Allura closed her eyes, breathing in deep the sweet air. Her lips quivered. And then she exhaled slowly, attempting to re-center herself. She wiped her eyes with a tired hand. “It’s going to be a long path from here,” she whispered. “After the rift—I was not prepared for any of this. I don’t know what is going to happen, or how safe I can keep him. Things are different now. He’s _different_.” Her breath hitched. “I just…want this to work. But he is so broken and suspicious—with scars so heavy upon his skin that it pains me to see them. I worry one wrong move will set him against me, and that he will lose his mind like the other.”   

She hesitated for another moment, laughing weakly. “And here I am, trying to offer you proper condolences, and yet I beg for comfort. Please forgive my selfishness. I’m being terribly rude.” She placed her index and middle finger to her forehead and then swept outward in a traditional Altean gesture of mourning. “I hope you find peace and joy in the arms of the ancients and of the Life Givers who came before.”

The words caught in her throat unnaturally, making her breath halt. She swallowed down great emotion, blinking fast to rid herself of tears. She had not spoken such words in well over 10,000 years—and even then, it had been for old vassals of her father. For Honerva and Zarkon at the state funeral.

How odd that the very next person for whom she would speak such words would be for their son, whose soul and body they had splintered and mutilated to death, his face three times twisted in such pain—

The princess then inhaled sharply and turned around to return to the Olkari headquarters, the wind caressing against her worn, tear-streaked cheeks and threading through her hair. But as she walked, she suddenly felt as if someone were walking beside her—the presence an electricity to her right. She goose-bumped, the hair on the nape of her neck prickling.

No one was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all. Sorry that this chapter took longer to write than previous ones. I had family members visit this week, and then I struggled again with plot (it was supposed to be just hurt/comfort and is turning into much more than that). But I tried to write a little longer chapter in apology. I’m sort of letting this crazy thing write itself based on what you all say you’d like to see happen, combined with what I hope is the realistic political fall-out of finding a cloned Lotor. 
> 
> Again, I appreciate everyone who is reading this story, and I love hearing your feedback. Please let me know if you’d like to see more, and if you have any requests. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following awesome people for reviewing Chapter 5 of my Lotura story, The Second Law, on AO3: Nagisa, electronicpencil, UltraFirelily, KokoaKirkland, NickyADon, Gabriel, TwoHeartsAreBetterThan1, anything_past_or_present, wolf_feather, Empireofroses, Kyndall, PhotographerWithin, Jet_Lignite, hiiraeth, and Amanda. I really appreciate it as well as the kudos! 
> 
> You can view my replies to your reviews/questions here: https://lotura-archive.tumblr.com/post/175858387443/the-second-law-chapter-5-review-replies

It was just after nine in the morning when Lotor blearily opened his eyes. Shiro’s music player had shut off at some point in the night, leaving him with the wildlife of Olkarion as background noise. Birds chirped over the fields outside the infirmary.

For a time, he was pleasantly disoriented. The soft blankets upon his bed felt like clouds. His loose fingers twitched, and he felt the smooth, warm metal of the music player still in his palm.

He felt, for one minute, oddly whole.

And then his cobalt eyes pulsed with pain.

Lotor’s face twisted in an uneasy discomfort. “Ngh.” He set down the music player by his side and pulled out the earbuds with a wince. Then he raised his thin, skeletal fingers to his temple, pressing gently. He could feel the sudden, sharp pounding of his heartbeat in his temple.

A noise of frustration—paradise was falling away—escaped his throat, his beautiful voice breaking oddly.

It figured that he could not have something so nice as peace. Not even for a minute.

He sat up in a struggle, his white hair and loose clothing shifting right as he leaned on his elbow. The bright Olkari sun, once so beautiful to him, now felt like stabbing daggers in his eyes. It was too bright, too white, too overwhelming. But the windows were far away, and he did not think he could make the walk to close them. He raised his left hand, narrowing his eyes and struggling to concentrate through his headache. His fingers trembled as they began to glow a deep purple. His harvesting scars pulsed hard, and he inhaled sharply. “Close,” he commanded.

He swiped his hand left, and the window curtains disjointedly flew shut, the material surging of its own volition until each panel connected together. The action blanketed the infirmary room into darkness.

The broken prince fell back on the bed, breathing hard in a cold sweat. His hands trembled as the purple glow dissipated from him. He felt suddenly nauseated, stomach churning.

At that time, a knock came at the door, with the face of one yellow paladin squished against the window curiously, squinting to see in the dark. “Hey,” called out Hunk, his voice muffled. “You awake in there? Can I come in?”

Lotor’s miserable expression tensed further as he snapped his eyes to the door. He could not refuse the paladin without incurring question—and yet he could not simply hide that his entire body suddenly felt like it was being stabbed. He swallowed back pain and said weakly, “Come in.”

The door opened, and one merry Hunk barreled through the door, carrying a tray of breakfast. “Hey, why’s it so dark in here? I thought we left the windows open for you last night—or did I hallucinate that, because, lemme tell you. Things blur sometimes. Like forgetting your car keys, or not remembering that you locked the back door or something.” He seemed far too chipper as he lowered a breakfast tray onto the bedside table, next to Lotor’s water glass. “Also, I made breakfast and brought you a plate. Squalia berry pancakes, as promised.”

The yellow paladin was followed by a yawning Pidge, who scratched at her side in a sleepy manner. She was still wearing a green pajama top and sweatpants, her hair in a wild twist around her cheeks. “Ngh,” she managed to grunt in greeting. Her glasses were a bit crooked upon her face, as if she had not properly placed them on her face. “Hunk, it’s dark in here. Maybe Lotor still wants to sleep, you know?”

“It’s been 12 hours,” Hunk complained lightly, stepping back. “At this rate, it’ll be time for lunch, and I still haven’t figured out what I’m doing for that.” He turned to pull open one of the window curtains to reveal sunlight.

The light struck the prince’s eyes, and his breath hitched in a raw agony from the pulse in his head. It was all he could do to squeeze his eyes shut and unsteadily pull a blanket over his face.

Hunk froze for a second before he panicked and quickly shut the curtain. “Whoa, what was that? Are you okay?”

The prince in question remained a hidden lump on the bed, save for a tangled mop of white hair peeking out from the covers. His form shuddered with uneven breaths. He felt disoriented—even more so than usual—and nauseated. The smell of the squalia berry pancakes was slightly sweet and full, wafting to his nose in a delicate way.

It made him green.  

“Apologies, paladin of Voltron,” he said, his halted voice muffled by the blanket. Even speaking pained him as he wrapped skeletal arms around his stomach, his fingers digging into the material of his shirt. Under the blankets, his voice sounded small. “I must decline your most gracious offer.”

Hunk blinked for a second, and then his entire countenance fell in a sad disappointment. “You don’t think they look good?”

Lotor exhaled with a groan. “I…do not feel well.” The more he spoke, the rougher and hoarser his voice sounded. Surely, he was dying. The vein in his temple was pounding hard enough to burst, searing his vision white even in the dark.

By this point, Pidge was more awake and staring at Lotor in deep concern. “Hunk,” she said suddenly, “maybe we should get the pancakes out of here.”

“I’m on it.” The larger paladin grabbed onto the tray, mourning silently as he stared at the shuddering lump on the bed. “No sweets for you today, I can see that coming right now.”

The prince dared to moan, even the thought of food making his brain blitz. For a brief moment, he thought he was tied down in Haggar’s lab, her claws digging into his temples as she struggled to tear into his mind.

_“You are trying to hide something from me,” she hissed. “Something deep. Something important.”_

The sound of Pidge’s voice came in as a waver. “Uh, Prince Lotor?” she said hesitantly, now standing closer to the bed. “If you’re not feeling well, then I need to let Princess Allura know so we can get you help. I can fix viruses on a computer, but not viruses in people.”

There was a pause between them.

And then Lotor’s muffled voice reached her ears. “I do not require help.”  

Pidge put a hand on her hip, raising a thin brow. “You just said you don’t feel good.”

With a begrudging reluctance, the prince pulled the blankets down from his face. His white hair was in a wild tangle across his emaciated cheek as he stared up at the girl. He looked terribly miserable, his harvesting scars shining darkly upon his skin. “You would not understand.”

The girl leaned forward a bit. “Oh, come on. It’s not like Princess Allura hasn’t seen you in worse shape. At least you’re not vomiting up blood.” Her face tensed with sudden worry. “Yet.” Lotor’s face was flushed in an unnatural way, his eyes oddly bright. Without any preamble, she shot out her small hand and planted the back of it on his forehead, scooting his hair out of the way.

The instant she touched him, his skin goose-bumped in a chill. The prince’s eyes squeezed shut as another wave of nausea wracked through him, his head pulsing hard again.

She pulled her hand away quickly. “You’re burning up,” she whispered in consternation.

Lotor moaned. “Allow me to die in silence. Even sound pains me now.” His eyes blinked in an odd way as he inhaled shakily, his own heartbeat a maddening pulse down the full of his spine—

Pidge backed away. Her mind raced. “I’m getting Princess Allura,” she said firmly. “You’re _really_ sick.”

* * *

 

The aforementioned princess was leaning against a counter, munching on an extra pancake from the stack Hunk had made. Her hair was still unkempt, her body clothed in the previous night’s gown and her pink robe. Her weary eyes stared out at the forest, focused upon the three graves under the Tree of Life.

“Coran,” she said distractedly, not looking away from the window, “do you believe in ghosts?”

Beside her, the exhausted man swallowed down a piece of his own pancake. “My grandfather did.” A fondness suddenly misted in his eyes, even as he chuckled. “Old pop-pop Wimbleton said my grandmother would rattle the windows of the house just as he was falling asleep, and that she would misplace his wrench when he was first building the Castle of Lions.” He turned to Allura, curiously searching her eyes. “Why do you ask, princess?”

She pressed her full lips together in a tight line. “But _you_ do not believe in them, then,” she concluded slowly.

Coran’s face was worn hard with tiredness from guarding her door, but he carried a merry spark with him. He scratched at his cheek, which was rough from not yet shaving. “I suppose if you twisted my arm a bit, I might say I find the idea intriguing. They make for great stories around a campfire, at least.”

Allura swallowed hard, and then she looked back down at her half-eaten pancake. “Of course,” she said politely. “They certainly do.”

The man leaned over a bit and whispered conspiratorially in her ear, “Although Shiro might be the next closest thing, what with being preserved by the black lion and all until you saved him.”

Something cold crept into her spine. “And why do you not think that counts as a…ghostly experience?”

Coran hummed. “The black lion kept his energy together, which makes him quite the anomaly. Death otherwise results in vibrational decoherence of such energy, at least on this physical plane and its connected astral field.” He pulled on his mustache in thought. “I’m not sure I even understand how the black lion was able to preserve him, now that I think on it. I should bother him about this when he’s got the time. Oh, but then he’s still mad at me for using his brush as a mustache comb, so—”

“—I appreciate your thoughts, Coran,” Allura cut in, knowing that if she didn’t, she would end up in the middle of a monologue about mustaches and finding the perfect comb for facial hair. “I was just…curious.” Her voice strained.

Coran, knowing her all-too-well, leaned in with a suspicious eye. “Why the sudden interest in ghosts, princess? It’s not like you to focus on things about death.”  

She paused, staring at him hesitantly. “It’s…rather difficult to explain. Earlier, while I was outside visiting the graves, I felt someone walking beside me.” She bit her lip and then gave a nervous chuckle, neglecting to mention that the energy had felt like Lotor’s quintessence field. “Perhaps I am simply still sleep-deprived.”

Before the Altean man could respond, there came another voice. It was rushed and panicked, echoing from down the hall. “Princess Allura?” cried Pidge. “Princess Allura?”

She turned her head to see Pidge barrel into the lounge. “What is it?”

The human girl caught her breath as she leaned against a wall. “It’s Lotor,” she said. “Something’s wrong. Like, really wrong. I think he’s sick?”

Allura quickly stood up, her face tensing in worry. “Oh no,” she murmured under her breath. She tightened the tie of her robe and surged forward. “Is he coughing up blood again? Did he break open a wound?”

Pidge’s worried face twisted. She grabbed onto Allura’s hand and began to drag her forward. “No, not like that. I’m talking an actual sickness. Like, nausea, fever, bad headache—stuff like that.”

“Did Hunk feed him something he shouldn’t have?”

“I don’t know,” Pidge whined as they raced down the hall. “I mean, he ate a ton of Ominari, including the bone, but I guess Galrans have hardcore stomachs? And his symptoms don’t match up with food poisoning.”

Allura’s heart skipped in worry. “I do hope it is something simple. How are his energy levels?”

“He was doing better last night—he could stand up and walk a bit. But today, it’s like he could barely move at all. He didn’t like lights or sound either.”

They flew past the kitchens and some small offices before they arrived in the medical wing of the building. A few Olkari workers looked up at them, their big, insect eyes wide at the sight of the Princess of Altea running along in a sleeping robe, being led by a human child.

“How could he have gotten sick? And so quickly?” Allura breathed incredulously. “None of us are ill.”

“My best guess is,” Pidge deadpanned, a bit breathless, “he’s been a prisoner for 9,000 years, right? That means he’s been in a singular environment. His immune system hasn’t had exposure to anything to help build up antibodies. And then with all the harvesting, that would’ve taken the energy he had to fight things off.” She bit her lip. “So the instant he interacted with us—and we’ve been everywhere—I mean, who knows what he could’ve picked up.”

The princess’s breath hitched. “You’re saying _we_ infected him?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” Pidge opened the door to Lotor’s infirmary room as quietly as she could. It was still dark inside. “Hey,” she called softly in warning, “Princess Allura is here.”

As they entered, the covered lump on the bed barely moved.

Allura’s eyes widened. “Lotor?”

His beautiful voice was once more a weak rattle. “Princess.” He dutifully turned his agony-ridden face to her, his body sunken hard against the bed and his pillow. He was in such a state that he could not even move his tangled, sweaty hair from his eyes.  

Allura walked forward in concern, reaching out to him. Her lithe fingers brushed aside his hair to search his eyes. Even in the dark, the gaunt lines of his face and his harvesting scars seemed more prominent than before. “Oh, you do seem quite ill.”

The prince’s thin lips pulled in agony, revealing a hint of a fang. “Quieter,” he complained, squeezing his bright eyes shut. “Too loud.”

The short, unpolished commands made her hesitate in surprise. Beneath her fingers, his cheek was burning up.

She looked over at Pidge, who seemed uncomfortable and helpless, arms crossed as she leaned against the counter. Allura felt the sentiment reflected in her own bones as she whispered in panic, “I cannot heal an illness.”  

Pidge’s eyes snapped to her. “What?”

The princess pulled away from Lotor, her brow creasing with her racing thoughts. “I know only how to heal wounds,” she said quietly, pained. “To fix that which has been broken. I may be able to lessen any pain related to inflammation, but…” She raised her hands helplessly. “I do not understand the nature of illnesses to cure him.”

“He’s going downhill fast,” the human girl warned. “We need to identify whatever this is and get an antidote.”

“Right.” Allura bit her full lip, looking a bit put out. “There’s only one person I know who’s spent a great deal of time researching illnesses across the galaxy, and I’m afraid he might not want to help.”

“So who is it?”

* * *

 

A short while later, Allura and Pidge had managed to prop the weak and increasingly confused Lotor up against his pillows. The prince was soaked in sweat by that time, his white shirt clinging to his thin frame, his breathing ragged. “What is—who are you—?”

One Coran peered at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hmm.” The man unceremoniously pulled down the skin beneath Lotor’s right eye, searching for dark spots on the sclera.

“Alt—Altean,” he rasped in recognition of Coran’s markings. The prince’s face twisted as his breath hitched in pain. But it seemed his headache was weakening him to a point where even words were too much effort. He could not voice disgruntlement at being poked and prodded.

Coran then lifted the boy’s thin lip, taking note of how his gums and tongue seemed to be an odd beet red. “Uh huh. That’s something alright.”

Behind him, Allura clasped her hands together. “Do you know what it is, Coran?”

Her advisor was not entirely pleased that Allura had roped him into helping the prince. “Well, it’s not standard Altean flu. You said he was complaining of sensory sensitivity?”

“Yes,” she said tensely.

His mustache twitched with thought. He focused his eyes on Lotor, who stared back blearily. “This seems to be an Olkari virus. They’re known for attacking the spinal cord and wreaking all sorts of havoc on the system. He has the right symptoms, down to the quick onset. But they’re usually not this…extreme.” He shrugged helplessly. “Oh well. I suppose that’s a bit of bad luck on his part.”

Allura’s face darkened. “Coran,” she said sharply.

“What?” He straightened the collar of his shirt with a proper snap, looking almost philosophical. “He flayed your face. I’d say this was a proper retribution on the part of the universe.”

“ _Coran_. How do we fix this? What’s the antidote?”

“Antidote?” He gave her a wide-eyed look. “It’s a virus, not a bacterium, princess. Certain herbs might help to increase immunity, but in the end, the body just has to learn to fight it off. There’s no good kill-switch for these kinds of illnesses.” 

She huffed in displeasure. “Well, there must be something we can do.” She waved her hand at Lotor. “Look at him; he’s absolutely miserable.”

“…I am,” Lotor rasped weakly. He seemed to pick up on Coran’s dislike and calculated that he should sink into the pillows even more to look as pathetic as possible. His throat was beginning to feel scratchy and too tight. He stared up with big, doe eyes, breathing raggedly. “Please, have m-mercy upon me.”

The Altean man grunted and looked away. But his lips turned with an uncomfortable line—he was not heartless, even if he did still want to tie Lotor into a Numorian knot with six ends. “Hnn. Well…I suppose I can chat with Ryner to see if Olkarion blooms with the Ipurim flower. It has antiviral properties in its leaves, which we could make into a sort of tea. Tastes like sandpaper, but it should cut down on the sensory distortions, and maybe that fever too.”

Allura’s displeasure bled away into relief. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Pidge cut in. “So what will happen to him? I mean, how long does this kind of sickness last?”

The older Altean sighed, sending a weary look to the man on the bed. “Olkari viruses, like most others, go in stages. Right now, the virus is still in a replicating stage. He might get worse before he gets better.”

“Worse?” Allura echoed incredulously.

Lotor gave an enduring sigh that ended in a weak cough and a pained twist of his face. His baritone voice shook with defeat as he mentally armed himself for battle. “How typical.”

It fell silent in the room for a time. And then Coran cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I’d…better get to procuring that tea, I suppose. No telling where the flowers are on this planet.” He gave a firm nod to Allura and the human girl. “Princess. Pidge.” And then he left in a flair of his glorious mustache, raising his chin in a flourish.

The door shut behind him with a sound click.

The princess stood awkwardly, wringing her hands for a time. She managed a weak smile to cover up the tension in the room. “Well, while we wait for your tea, what can I do to make you more comfortable?”  

Lotor stared up at her, his cobalt eyes—so terribly feverish and yet so calculating and tense—searched her. Even in his ill haze and pounding headache, she still managed to be a beautiful vision. A part of him desired to send her away while he was humiliatingly weak; and yet most of him desired that she remain at his side.

He wondered once again why she seemed so intent on indulging him, at the risk of her own well-being. He could see that her face was haggard, even in the darkness, with dark circles under her eyes. Her long hair was in a tangle down her back—and he blearily realized that she was still in her sleeping gown.

The prince’s flushed face seemed to heat further.

It seemed all sorts of royal decorum had fallen away between them.

(Or was he hallucinating it? Had he begun to lose his mind—and perhaps she was still truly standing in her white and pink armor?)

But before he could think more on it, a sharp pain surged down the side of his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. It felt like a dagger in his cheek, and for a time, he lost all concept of where he was or that Princess Allura had asked him a question.

Everything seemed to run white.

And then suddenly, he felt familiar fingers gently press in on his temples. Soft, cooling energy slipped into him, sinking behind his eyes and soothing the maddening pulse. “Lotor?” came Princess Allura’s worried voice. “I can at least lessen the inflammation. Does this feel better?” She paused. “Please forgive me for touching you again.”

His shaky breaths steadied, and for a time, he simply lay there in a daze—focusing in awe of her lithe, calloused fingers. “I like,” he rasped inanely, “when you touch me.”

She stiffened in surprise.

And then he realized what he had said. He blearily opened one eye to see her beautiful face before him, tinged in a blush. He damned his own pain-addled and feverish mind and hoarsely added, “You h-have a healer’s hands.”

Those full lips of hers pursed in an odd way—there was some kind of giggle in the background.

Pidge, Lotor realized.

Pidge was still in the room too.

“Well,” Princess Allura said, gracefully ignoring his strange slip, “you are giving me quite a lot of practice with healing.” She narrowed her eyes at him in concern and added, “Though I’m afraid your fever is worsening.”

Her fingers slipped away from him then, accidently—or was it?—trailing though a lock of his hair.

His breath was a shudder through his frame. It was all he could do not to nuzzle forward into her disappearing touch. “Thank you, princess.” Relief coated his tone with awe, masking the embarrassment he felt. Although he felt far too warm, he no longer felt stabbing pain.

“You’re most welcome.” She looked almost uncomfortable as she stared down at her rumpled sleeping clothes. “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Pidge while I…freshen up.”

Lotor gave a tired, amused huff. He was positively sticking to the bedsheets and his clothes from sweat, his hair in greasy straggles. He weakly waved at himself and deadpanned breathlessly, “Do not f-feel it necessary on my account.”

That sparked a small twitch of a smile upon the princess’s face. It was genuine—not one of those diplomatic smiles she so often touted. “Yes, well. I’ll bring back some things to help you. I hate to see anyone look so miserable.”

His face was flushed up to the tips of his elfin ears, but it was perhaps due to his fever. “I will repay your kindness.”  

Her expression softened. “Just focus on resting.” And then she reached for the door, disappearing in a fluff of white hair and pink bell sleeves that reminding him of a flower’s velvet shrill.

That left Lotor and Pidge together, and for a time, there was silence.

The girl sat down by the bed and narrowed her eyes. “You,” she accused playfully. “I should’ve known—you still have a manipulative streak.”

His tired, feverish eyes landed upon the girl. “…Still?”

“I saw what you did to Coran. You know how to play a part to get what you want.” She crossed her arms. It made her look almost intimidating, if she weren’t wearing green pajamas with her lion’s face on them. “And here I was feeling bad for you. But maybe that’s how you _want_ me to feel, huh?”

He closed his eyes, having enough grace left in him to grimace. “I am not f-fabricating this,” he complained. “I have not fallen ill in…a long time.”  

“You did a thing with your face,” she pressed.

The prince disjointedly turned to her. And then, with a groan, he gave her doe eyes, like that of a child staring up in full trust and pain.

Pidge’s eyes watered. “That’s it.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “ _That’s_ the face. What the cheese, it’s like looking at a kicked puppy.”

Lotor’s expression slipped back into a hard misery, which made him appear to age a thousand years, his emaciated cheeks gaunt with exhaustion. He sunk back fully against his pillow, too tired to pull up his blankets. “Desperate times,” he admitted breathlessly. “It worked, did it not?”

The human girl sat back and stared at him incredulously. “Well, yeah. But…you could topple regimes with that face.”

He coughed in misery and deadpanned, “It cannot. Believe me, I tried.”

“But you can still totally sway people to your side.”

“…Depending on their sentiments, yes.”

She clapped her hands together. “Then teach me how to make that expression,” she said slowly, “and I won’t tell Coran he’s a sap.”

He stared at her, focusing on the conniving, playful glint in her eye. He knew from previous experience that this girl was wickedly smart. Calculating. “You devil,” he mused, a twitch of appreciation upon his thin lips. “Why do you blackmail me so?”

She placed a thin elbow on his bed, leaning her cheek against her hand. “My older brother’s off-planet right now,” she said easily. “And I need someone to tease in the meantime. So you’ll have to do.”

* * *

 

By the time Allura returned to the infirmary, dressed in her standard pink and white spacesuit, she was surprised to discover Lotor still sitting up in bed, carrying on a rather animated conversation with Pidge despite the increasing flush of fever on his face and the weakening of his voice.

He was deadpanning, “—this right: You use your lion’s communication technology to send binary encryptions of earth cat pictures to your brother, who then responds with other related…memes?”

“Yep,” Pidge said.

“Through your lion.”

“Yeah, totally.”

“And you do this every day?”

“You bet.”

The prince’s incredulous expression stretched into a handsome smile. “…That is a brilliant use of such a machine.”

“I _know_ , right?”

Allura shut the door behind her, calling out dryly, “Okay, what sort of trouble are you two cooking up?” She carried a bag in one hand, filled with things for Lotor.

Pidge gave a wave. “I’m just talking to him about Matt.”

On the bed, the broken prince looked a bit put out as he looked up at Allura. “Apparently, he is her favorite. Which means I am not.”

Allura roved her eyes over him, paying close attention to the hard exhaustion in him. His eyes glowed oddly, even in the near darkness, and she began to wonder if Lotor were being so candid due to his fever. Pidge had not yet dared to open the room’s curtains, likely from Lotor’s light sensitivity.

“Matt _is_ my brother,” Pidge reminded him dryly. “He kinda has to be my favorite.”

The prince huffed. “Victory or death,” he declared in amusement, his eyes blowing wide. “I am second to none.”

Pidge snorted. She pushed up her glasses as she turned to Allura and said, “I think his fever’s climbing. Just for the record.”

The princess set her bag of things on the floor, eyes wide. “Yes, I can see that.”

Lotor weakly disagreed. “I am, in fact, better,” he pressed, voice hoarse. “My head does not pound. I can move my toes.”

Allura deadpanned, “I’m afraid that doesn’t inspire confidence.” She pulled out from her bag an Olkari thermometer, narrowing her eyes at the instructions. She moved toward the bed. “I should very much like to test whether you’re getting better. What say you to some objective data?”

His cobalt eyes focused blearily on the medical instrument. His thin, long fingers hooked into the blanket pooled at his waist. A genuine spark of fear flickered across his face. “No experiments,” he said shortly, all amusement falling from his face. His light harvesting scars tightened hard on his face.

The princess paused. “It is not that,” she said, trying to comfort him. She raised the thermometer for him to inspect. “See? The end sticks in your mouth, and it reads your core temperature. No experiment. No pain.”

She fought down the knee-jerk pain in her heart as she stared at his suspicious face.

He looked at the device, then back at Allura, then back at the device. “…Very well,” he relented.

The princess approached him hesitantly. “Can you open your mouth for me? It needs to go under your tongue.”

Lotor inhaled a suffering sigh before unlocking his teeth, revealing his fangs and his beet-red gums and tongue. And then he bit down on the end of the thermometer, staring up at her in hesitant trust.

“There,” she said softly. “That’s not so bad.” And soon enough, the device beeped. She pulled it away from him gently and read the result.

Her heart dropped, and her mind froze as she reread the numbers. 

Pidge leaned forward. “What is it?”

The princess still did not answer for a time, and then she turned off the device in a daze. “It’s…rather high.” If Lotor had been a full Altean, he would have already been dead, but she knew the Galra tended to have hotter blood, which made it difficult to determine how feverish he was. “Regardless, it is a good baseline against which to measure later.”

A small twitch of nervousness appeared in Pidge’s face. “But…Coran said we’re still in just the first stage. What if he gets worse?”

Allura gave her a pained smile. “Coran will have that antiviral tea of his in hand soon, and then I’m confident we can keep his temperature down enough.” She turned back to her bag. “In the meantime, I brought a few other things for him.”

Lotor watched her lean over. He recognized once more that Princess Allura of Altea was terribly beautiful, and that it was possible he had hallucinated her existence. He swallowed hard.

She pulled out a hairbrush and a pink hair tie of her own. “For starters,” she said cheerily, “I’m going to help you get all of that hair out of your face.”

* * *

 

By the time they reached the bottom of Allura’s bag, Lotor was sitting up in bed, his thick mane of hair piled into a messy bun atop his head. He was wearing a new, thinner robe meant for summer, with his old, sweaty shirt cast aside into the infirmary’s hamper. On his lap was a coveted bag of earth animal crackers, courtesy of Hunk, who had suggested them as a milder food to help Lotor keep up his strength.

_“Trust me on this,” Hunk had said. “He really needs to eat something. Or else his energy will go down even more, and he won’t have any left to fight off whatever he’s got.”_

_“And these crackers are made of animals?”_

_He laughed. “No, no. They’re just bread bites shaped like earth animals. See?”_

The prince was currently munching on the head of an earth lion cracker, delighted. Now that his head did not pound, he was not so nauseated and found eating to be pleasant again—especially with eating animal crackers, which snapped between his fangs with the most perfect crunch and then dissolved into something soft and sweet.

“The food of the gods,” he declared as a royal proclamation, voice muffled. He weakly bit down on the remainder of the cracker, closing his eyes. His emaciated face was still flushed with increasing fever, to a point where his harvesting scars seemed almost red.

The princess smiled to hide her worry. “I’m pleased that you enjoy animal crackers.”

Pidge slyly stole a few crackers from the bag while Lotor was focused on Allura.

“Where on planet Earth does one find these?” he pressed. 

Allura hummed, tapping her chin. “While we were there, we went on a trip to what is called a grocery store.”

His feverish eyes widened. “You have been to Earth?”

“Yes,” she said brightly. “And it was great fun. The majority of the Earth people are only now beginning interstellar travel. I had to disguise myself to avoid scaring the locals. But with how diverse the planet’s culture is, it feels as though you’ve already walked into a major intergalactic port. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A spark of something childlike flickered in his expression as he bit down on another animal cracker. His movements were growing more uncoordinated from his exhaustion. “Tell me more,” he said, leaning back fully against his pillows.

The princess smiled. “Well, it has a vast array of species and plant life. The marketplaces are full of humans from every walk of life and earth nation—"

Pidge jumped in. “—We had a beach day,” she said, voice raising in amusement, “and Allura totally pushed us all into the water. Lance screamed like a little girl because the water was cold, and it was great.”

“Lance?” the prince asked.

“Another paladin,” Allura said. “And a dear friend. I do hope that you will meet him—”

“— _Princess?_ ” came in a crackling voice from her communicator. “ _Princess, are you there?_ ”

It was Coran, and he sounded stressed and distant.

Allura’s eyebrows furrowed as she responded, “Yes, Coran?”

“ _I’m afraid I’ve run into a spot of trouble with getting the Ipurim flower. You see_ —” he grunted, swinging something— “ _it’s in a cave. But it’s not an empty cave_.”

She could hear through the frequency the sound of Keith and Shiro yelling out something, and then an explosion. Her eyes widened. “Coran? Coran, are you still there?”

“ _Yes, princess_.” His voice was rougher. “ _This cave is inhabited by a large Olkari worm with an incredibly poor sense of humor, bad taste in interior design, and absolutely no manners_.” He grunted again. “ _It’s going to take us a bit to get the flowers. I hope you know, I’ll need **two** mustache combs now after this_.”

“Well, be careful,” the princess said, a worry line appearing between her eyes. “Do you need further assistance?”

Another distant explosion. The sound of splattering mud. “ _Maybe just a subscription to the space mall’s massage spa! And a really long bath!_ ”

And then the frequency cut off, and Allura sighed, her shoulders bowing forward in stress. “…Oh, dear. This does not bode well.  I hope that it—”

Pidge suddenly poked her and pointed to the bed.

In just that short time without Allura’s attention upon him, Lotor had fallen asleep against his pillows, a half-eaten animal cracker still in his palm. His sweaty face was slack with exhaustion, with some of the shorter strands of his hair falling out of his bun to land in an array over his emaciated cheek.

His breath was still a slightly uneven shudder from the stress on his system.

Allura’s heart softened at the sight, and she swallowed hard, afraid of the emotion she felt for him in that moment. It was a terrible thing, to feel so attached to a man who—in another life—

_“My feelings for you are true,” he pleaded. “And I know you have feelings for me as well.”_

_“I’m ready to wipe the universe clean of all my enemies,” he snarled. “Voltron, Haggar, and the rest of the Galra!”_

She inhaled shakily, then exhaled a sigh. “I think,” she whispered, “we should let him sleep.”

The still pajama-clad Pidge nodded. And then she sneakily pulled the bag of animal crackers off Lotor’s lap to steal away with it. “Good idea,” she whispered back.

* * *

 

As the day passed, the Olkari headquarters remained quiet, with a few messages from Coran that they had secured the flowers after an exhausting battle with the Olkari cave worm, which had put up quite the wild fight.

Princess Allura was, at that time, forcing herself to eat lunch as she stared out the window again to the graves beneath the Tree of Life. Off to the right, Lance was playing an old Earth video game, eating from the bag of animal crackers that he had stolen from Pidge, who had stolen it from Lotor. Romelle was watching him play, leaning her back against a couch as she worked on braiding her hair.

Romelle’s sweet voice was turned with confusion. “How do you know when to push which buttons to make the character in the box move?”  

Lance narrowed his eyes as he focused. “Oh, it’s really easy. You just have to remember what the buttons do, and you build up muscle memory.” And then he paused the game, and, hesitantly, offered up his controller. “Did you…want to try?”

Romelle’s purple eyes widened. “You would teach me your game?”

“Sure,” he said easily. “You look like you need to let off some steam anyway. Here, I’ll show you how to shoot a dragon.” He pushed the controller into her hands, talking through the buttons. She clumsily held it in her hands, for the first time her face relaxing into something of almost amusement as she began to nod and hesitantly push buttons.

Lance turned the game back on, and Romelle narrowed her eyes at the screen. She pressed one of the control buttons, and her purple eyes widened in excitement as the dragon in the game collapsed. “I shot it!”

“Yeah, you did,” Lance congratulated. “Now you have to collect the bag of coins that’s on the screen. You see it?”

“Yes,” she said in increased excitement. “I get coins? How do I collect them?”

From the other side of the other room, Allura dared to smile softly, turning away from the window to stare at the two geeking out over the video game. Lance, for all of his jokes and flirtation, had a soft soul and seemed far too aware of the burdens everyone carried.

His eyes briefly turned away from Romelle and met Allura’s in a soft way. _You okay?_ he seemed to ask.

 _Yes_ , she responded with a tired smile. _I will be._

But in that moment, a scampering echoed across the lounge room, and Allura turned her gaze to focus upon one of her mice bolting toward her. “Oh, Platt,” she greeted him, face turning with concern. Platt’s movements were erratic and stressed. She set down her plate of food. “Whatever is the matter?”

Suddenly, the mouse stopped at her feet, waving its little paws frantically as it squeaked. Allura bent down, eyes wide. “This is about Lotor?”

The mouse squeaked.

Allura’s heart skipped. “He’s _what_?”

Lance and Romelle suddenly both looked over in surprise of the sharpness of her voice. They both witnessed the princess panic and bolt into action. Allura threw open the door toward the infirmary room, nearly casting it off its hinges.

Lance suddenly grabbed Romelle’s hand and pulled her up with him. “Come on, we need to follow.”

“What?” the Altean woman squeaked in return, her eyes wide. “But—I don’t—!”

“—Princess Allura might need backup,” he cut in firmly, setting his lips in a grim line. He grabbed his bayard for safe measure from the counter as they ran, unsure of the circumstance. “And I might need you to sound the alarm in the hall—it’ll trigger a lockdown and get Hunk and Pidge’s attention.”

Romelle followed along in a daze of fear. “Can you not call them yourself?”

“My communicator’s in my suit,” he breathed, eyes wild as he trailed after Allura. “Bad design, I know.”

The Altean woman gave a noise of complaint but did not resist his firm grip on her hand. For as much as she had avoided Prince Lotor, some dark part of her had wanted to see him again. To stare into the face of death itself.

Up ahead, Allura rushed into the infirmary room, heart pounding. “Lotor?”

On the bed, Lotor’s eyes were wide and unfocused as he stared up at the ceiling, his breath a shallow and quick rasp, loud enough to echo. The water glass was broken in shatters on the floor.

Lance and Romelle quickly barreled through the door as well, nearly tripping over each other. “Don’t worry, princess,” Lance called out, “I’ve got your—” and then his voice trailed off. “Back?”

Allura turned to them. She breathed in panic, "He's getting worse." 

Lance hesitated for a second and lowered his bayard with a sigh. It was a mixture of disappointment and relief. “Well, if that’s all.”

The princess was already moving toward the bed. “His fever,” she said. She pressed a hand to his cheek and said, voice tight, “He’s too warm. Dangerously so.”

When he opened his eyes at the sound of voices, his pupils were dilated, nearly swallowing up the beautiful blue of his irises.

Romelle simply stared at broken prince on the bed in vague horror.  

Suddenly, Allura turned to them, her eyes hard with fright. “Lance?” she said sharply. “I need you to go grab a bucket of ice cold water and to grab a few new washcloths from the linen closet.” Her eyes flickered to the remaining soul. “And Romelle, if you could find me a broom so I can clean up the glass?”

Romelle met Allura’s gaze hesitantly. The two had always maintained a particular distance, in which the princess rarely commanded her to do anything. But the request was so simple, in itself implying that Allura would not ask her to stoop so low as to pick up the glass herself. It was difficult to refuse such a selfless royal. “Yes, princess,” she said, voice tight.

Lance spun his bayard. “And ice water in a bucket—you got it.”

“Thank you,” the princess breathed. “Thank you both, truly.” Then she activated her frequency. “Pidge?” she called. “Are you still working on the ship with Hunk?”

There was a pause. _“Yes. Why, what’s up?”_

“Can you use your Olkari interface to build a fan that blows cold air? Lotor’s…getting worse, and we need to bring his temperature down in any way we can.”

_“Sure thing. Give me ten minutes.”_

Romelle and Lance were already gone by the time she ended her frequency. From down the hall, she could hear Romelle’s pained voice, “You said you did not have a communicator. But Princess Allura did.”

Lance’s voice was incredulous. “Hey, in my defense, I didn’t know she’d be able to use it.” 

Her voice was beginning to grow indecipherable the farther away they moved. But it had softened. “His face—still—Bandor’s—”

Back in the infirmary, Allura pressed her lips tightly together as she turned to Lotor. “I am sorry to be so forward,” she told him, forcing her voice to remain even and calm. “But I have to bring down your temperature.” A bit hesitantly, her shaking fingers worked to pull aside Lotor’s robe. The flush of his face extended all the way down his face and chest, darkening his skin into a near violet. His ribs stuck out oddly when he tried to breathe.

As she pushed the robe off his shoulders, he stared up at her without quite looking at her, his flushed face in a daze. “P-princess?” he rasped suddenly.

“Yes, I am here,” she said, voice distracted. She pulled the tie of his robe, her face in a twist of pain upon realizing that his harvesting scars had returned to surge down the full of his body, the hard lines disappearing beneath the hem of his pants to reappear at his ankles. It was as if all of her previous good work had been undone.  

He blinked at her, his dilated eyes still searching without finding a target. “I cannot see you,” he rasped in sudden panic, his breath shuddering quicker and even more shallowly. His voice was slurred and halted. “I cannot—”

Allura grabbed onto his trembling hand, careful of his extended claws, and with her free fingers, she stroked his sweaty temple. “I am right here,” she comforted him. “Can you feel me?” 

His wild eyes struggled to focus on her image—he tried to pinpoint her based on the location of her voice. “No.”

She paused. A deep foreboding chilled her spine. She dared to run a line along the shell of his elfin ear, which she knew for Alteans and Galrans was quite sensitive. Touching another’s ear was a terribly intimate thing to do, but it was an efficient test for determining just how damaged his senses were. “Can you feel that? I’ve touched your ear.”

Lotor still stared up at the ceiling in panic. He could not see. He could not feel. He had never been without his senses. “No—” He shakily tried to reach up to her, disjointedly locking his hand upon her elbow, desperate for a foundation. His fever-addled mind struggled to acknowledge that he was in fact holding onto something.

He suddenly felt as if he were drifting inside the harvesting pod—everything muffled—nothingness—

The princess swallowed hard. “This must just be another sensory distortion. It should pass soon.” But her voice hesitated with a fear that it wouldn’t. “Coran is working right now on that tea. He’ll be back, and then you’ll feel much better.”

His grip weakly tightened on her arm. He was as hot as a burning sun, even through the thick material of her jumpsuit. “D-do not l-leave me again.”

His defeated, broken plea made Allura’s eyes begin to burn. “I will not leave you,” she said firmly. “I promise.” She then tried to focus, slipping small bursts of power from her fingers into his temple. His quintessence field was a raging fragment—but she could not separate him from the virus, as viruses were not alive and therefore did not have quintessence.

The prince closed his eyes. He fought down his panic as he held onto her, his breath shuddering hard. His clawed fingertips scratched her armor, and his beautiful voice broke. “Please, do not leave m-me.”

Lotor clung hard to the remaining senses he had. He could hear her voice hitch. He could smell her sweet scent—like a flower of some kind—to his left. If he focused hard enough, his Galran senses could pick up on the scent of tears.

Princess Allura, he realized, was beginning to cry for him.

Her voice was soft, wavering. “I’m right here, Lotor. I will not leave you.” He could almost hear the weak smile stretching her face, the strain of her mind as she raced to think of something positive. He imagined she was trying to blink away her tears. “Perhaps, while we wait for the others, I could regale you with stories about my visit to Earth. Would you like that?”

His white brows knitted. “Earth?” he rasped breathlessly. His fuzzy mind knew the word; it was familiar somehow, but now he could not place it.

He could hear the hard pause between them—the deafening shock from her. “Yes,” the princess said tightly, her pleasant voice faltering with deep worry. “The home planet of the paladins. The one Pidge has talked to you about?”  

Lotor’s feverish mind struggled to keep up. As his sluggish heartbeat carried on, he found that it was increasingly more difficult to think. “Yes. Of c-course.” He winced a bit from an odd pain through his body. “Y-you…pushed the paladins—into the waters.”  

“That’s right,” she said, relief bleeding into her.

His grip on her arm began to weaken, his connection to his limbs shorting out. His hand fell limp with his claws still extended. He unintentionally nicked the side of his robe, slicing the thin material.

The princess continued to hold his other hand, even if he could not feel it. She intertwined her fingers between his and began to talk of cheery things—her voice a lighthouse in the void as he focused on breathing in her sweet scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all. I hope you don’t mind the super-extra hurt/comfort in this chapter? I had a surgery to remove a cancer spot (benign at least!), and I’m still achy and disgruntled. So I’m taking all the negativity out on poor Lotor, haha. :/
> 
> In brighter news, I dropped in animal crackers here as a nod to AJ LoCascio’s tweet that animal crackers would be Lotor’s favorite earth food (bless you, Tumblr, for alerting me that this man tweets such things). 
> 
> In the free time I had this week, I also posted a rant about s6 Lotor and how s6 could’ve been written to make him a true antihero? If you’re interested: https://lotura-archive.tumblr.com/post/175827963733/a-rant-about-lotors-s6-characterization-the
> 
> I’m still not sure how I feel about Romelle, though. She feels so abruptly thrown into the canon show that I’m shaky with her character and how she relates to everyone. I noticed readership began to drop off on this story last chapter, so I do hope her inclusion isn’t a bother. 
> 
> Please let me know if you’d like to see more, and any questions, advice, or ideas that you have!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following people for reviewing last time: electronicpencil, Nagisa, Gabriel, hiiraeth, UltraFirelily, TwoHeartsAreBetterThan1, Rosesoftheempire, mutedtempest, anything_past_or_present, TiffanyBlue, KokoaKirkland, Longpig, dayriniandreamer, Jet_Lignite, Amanda, NickyADon, reyechan, Smallblaa, cataclysmofstars, Gyogyo, galadriel'slessprettydaughter, and silkymarillion. I’m so thankful for you all and for your ongoing support! It means a lot to hear feedback on this crazy story of mine.
> 
> Individual review replies are here: https://lotura-archive.tumblr.com/post/176091827723/the-second-law-chapter-6-review-replies

_The young Lotor sat upon a flight commander’s lap, his small arms stretched up in concentration to reach the controls inside a stationary fighter ship. On the main viewing screen was a flight simulation. They were soaring through a deep-space asteroid belt. His heart was pounding in excitement, his eyes darting back and forth as his small fingers flipped various switches._

_The simulation’s lasers shot out, slicing through the asteroids he could not avoid. His small body leaned right, his tongue sticking out as he turned the ship on its side, slipping through a narrow passage—and out into the open oblivion of space._

_He remembered to breathe only then, his cobalt eyes still wide with adrenaline._

_“Very good, Prince Lotor,” praised the flight commander. His voice was a deep boom of pride as he patted the prince’s head. “Little more than a bean sprout, you are, and yet you succeed where many have failed.”_

_His fingers shook in fear that the man would injure him for his small mistakes—that his kindness was a ruse to test him once more. “Th-thank you, Commander Roolan.”_

_The commander pressed a button, and the doors of the fighter ship opened up into the air. The simulation shut off with a low-powered whine. “Come on now, little one.” He easily lifted the small boy up and over the railing onto the steps. His hands were large with lethal claws, but he was gentle. “Off you go.”_

_Lotor found himself standing upon the deck whole and without pain, and he stared up at the commander with wide eyes._

_He swallowed hard. “I must have failed somehow. What about palen-bol?”_

_The Galran’s full-yellow eyes narrowed on the boy. His lightly furred face twitched. He swept his large hand through the air, motioning to the various ships in the hangar. “The palen-bol demands submission to a pre-ordained structure. Space does not have such structure but instead offers phenomena that challenge the best and brightest. A pilot must be creative to survive.” He turned to eye the little boy. “Therefore, I do not employ palen-bol in my training. I instead allow you to reap the consequences of your own decisions in flight.”_

_The little boy’s breath hitched. “You will not strike me?”_

_The commander leveled his gaze, staring at the prince’s bruised face. His eyes softened. “No, little one. I will never strike you.”_

_Lotor's face lifted in a hesitant smile, revealing a missing fang from his father’s fist._

* * *

 

Various members of team Voltron converged in Lotor’s infirmary room. Lance was the first to arrive, deftly carrying a small bucket of ice water with a few small towels draped over his shoulder. The water sloshed along the edges, dripping onto his shoes and the tiles. “I’ve got the water,” he called out.

Allura looked up from Lotor, her posture bowing with relief. “Oh, thank you, Lance.” She pulled her hand away from Lotor’s, careful of his claws, and reached out. The bucket was cold to the touch from the ice cubes, and it goose-bumped her skin beneath her jumpsuit.

On the bed, the prince’s unfocused eyes darted in the direction of Lance’s voice. “Lance?” Lotor repeated blearily, and then recognition lit his face. “An—another paladin.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Allura gratefully grabbed one of the small towels from Lance. Her fingers brushed against his, and the red paladin paused for a moment, staring at her. Then his face reddened, and he stepped away, looking over at Lotor.

“I’ll, uh,” Lance said quietly, “let you get back to helping him.”

Allura pressed her lips together, face in pain. “Lance,” she told Lotor, “is our sharpshooter and the pilot of the red lion. He’s actually quite funny sometimes.”

The introduction made him pause and turn back. “…Hey,” the boy complained sharply. “I’m plenty funny, thank you.”

“And he has a big heart for everyone,” Allura said, eyes softening.

Lance preened at that. “…That’s better,” he said, raising his brows.

Allura turned back to Lotor, dunking the cloth into the cold water. “Really, he’s the best of us,” she said.

This time, Lance began to waggle his brows and crossed his arms. “Now, you’re talking,” he said, his voice deepening into something sultry, even as his lips stretched into an amused, soft smile.

Allura wrung out the extra water from the soaked cloth as she laughed lightly.  

On the bed, the feverish Lotor closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of the princess wringing out water over the bucket. The smell of flowers was to his left, as was the sound of the princess’s strained giggle. To his right was the scent of the second person. This paladin whose name was Lance smelled like sand and salt—light, airy things.

And then Lotor heard Allura’s voice directed back at him again. “Can you feel this?” she asked him softly. “I’m pressing a cold washcloth against your forehead to help bring down your fever.”

His unfocused eyes opened, face straining with concentration. “N-no,” he whispered, voice breaking in defeat. “I feel—nothing.”

There was a pause.

“…Oh,” said the princess. Her tone carried an odd pattern of fear. “Not even a pressure?”

Dazed, cobalt eyes stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but gray. His emaciated chest fluttered in panic, his ribs sticking out hard against scarred skin. “No.” He did not know then if his eyes were opened or closed—in the darkness, his eyes could not even pick up sources of light.

“Well,” the princess murmured to him, voice strained, “inability to feel pressure is…not altogether unexpected.” She hesitated. “I understand this must all be quite unpleasant for you, but we have to get that fever down. I have a second washcloth here—” there was the sound of a dunking in water, the dripping of droplets— “that I can use to cool down your face and neck. Do I have your permission?”

He swallowed hard, his feverish mind struggling to compute the question. She was asking if he would allow her to touch him so in his senseless condition. Even the thought—to be so open to attack—made his self-preservation instincts rile up.

_She will slit your throat—_

_Lull you in—_

But then he knew that if she had wanted to take advantage of his state, she would have already done it, several times over. Her very request for permission was once again a testimony that she was a true Altean princess, and that she was honorable.

The word still caught in his mouth, hesitant. “Yes.”

The trust he offered did not go unnoticed by Lance.

Leaning against the counter, the boy crossed his arms, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as he watched Allura raise the washcloth and run it down Lotor’s haggard cheek. Something about it seemed intimate, and perhaps it was. “Well,” Lance called out awkwardly, “looks like everything’s under control here—I guess I’d better, uh, get back to…what I was doing before.” He stopped himself from mentioning video games, feeling a flush of shame tinge his cheeks at how childish it would have sounded to Lotor.

The princess turned her head, eyes softening. She seemed ready to say something but was interrupted.

At that time, one hesitant Romelle appeared at the door, carrying a broom and dust pan. Her thin fingers were gripped tightly along the handles, knuckles a pure white. “Princess?” she called out, her sweet voice drifting with a strain of tension. “I have found these for you—where would you like them?”

Allura turned to the girl. “You can set them right by the door, and I will attend to it. Please do be careful where you step; there might be glass shards about.”

Romelle pressed her lips tightly together, frozen for a moment as she stared at the prince lying helpless on the bed. His aristocratic, handsome face—the face of New Altea’s god—was ragged with pain and sweat, brought down low to the realm of the mortals for once. And for one brief moment, she felt a rage. It ran hot in her blood with the names of all the Alteans who had died at Lotor’s hand—with the sound of Bandor’s merry laugh, his worshipful awe of the wonderful _savior_ Prince Lotor who could do no wrong…

How easy it would be, she thought suddenly, to swing the boom and strike him right in his sunken eyes.  

“Romelle?” called out Princess Allura in concern.

That brought her back to the present. She inhaled sharply, tearing her eyes away from Lotor. A flush of shame appeared over her pale cheeks. “I am sorry,” she breathed in a panic. She quickly set the broom and pan to the side and backed away, her blond pigtails shifting about her shoulders. “I just—I am sorry, I cannot—”

And she turned away with a hitched breath, running back through the halls.

Allura, in that moment, looked to be exhaustingly overwhelmed as she watched Romelle disappear. With stressed eyes, she turned to Lance and pleaded, “I know I ask so much of you, but can you go after her and ensure she’s well? I worry for her.”

Lance nodded, already moving in concern. “Romelle—?”

The princess sighed as she worriedly watched the boy disappear out the door. Then she dunked the warmed washcloth into the bucket of cold water once more. In the silence, she wrung it out and gently swept it down Lotor’s neck.

The prince’s eyes stared up at the ceiling without a target. Beads of cool water slipped from his skin to his hair and robe. “The woman,” he rasped in curiosity. “Who is she?”

Allura hesitated. “Romelle is a member of the Voltron Coalition, although she is not a paladin. She traveled to Earth with us and is very…sensitive.” Even more hesitantly, out of dark curiosity, she added, “Romelle is Altean.”

One of Lotor’s white brows twitched. “An—another one of you.” His face twitched in an odd emotion.

The princess pulled the washcloth away, eyeing the miserable man and noting every small reaction he had. Romelle had suggested the colony was very old—which meant perhaps even this Lotor knew of it.  “In your…experiences, have you met any Alteans?” she asked calmly. “I have discovered that so few of us remain. I hope to one day reunite my people and establish a New Altea within the belt of the Voltron Coalition.”

The words were calculated.

The prince swallowed hard, his dilated eyes blowing wide. “You mean a colony,” he rasped. In his feverish state, his emotions were far more apparent. A horror began to creep into him as recognition and memory caught up with him.

“Yes,” Allura said, narrowing her eyes.

As his emotions increased, his clawed fingers began to twitch, slicing into the material of his robe. “C-colony?” he rasped again, face twitching. He struggled to turn his head, his blind eyes searching for her in panic. Some kind of recognition had lit in his feverish mind, blazing into a fire. His cracked lips opened and closed with a struggle for words. “The colony. Pollux.”

Foreboding chilled through the princess. Pollux was the planet Romelle had mentioned as hosting the first colony. “Are there Alteans on this planet Pollux?” she asked quietly, eyebrows knitting together in pain. She already knew the answer.

“Yes,” the prince rasped in pain. He swallowed hard again. “Or—there were—I d-do not know.” His breath hitched. “Princess,” he begged. “Forgive me—”  His breath began to shudder, a cold sweat beading at his temples. “Forgive me—”

She bit her lip as deep pain pulled through her. She tightly clenched the washcloth in her hand for strength. “Why do you ask for my forgiveness?”

Lotor squeezed his eyes shut tightly, face twisting hard. It made his harvesting scars wrinkle in a strange way. “You will despise me,” he rasped. “You will l-leave me to die.”

Allura swallowed hard. There was a great pause between them before she could speak, feeling a lump in her throat. This Lotor was still not innocent. He had killed her people—it was the rift all over again— “Please tell me,” she begged. “I will not leave you to die, whatever it is.”

The feverish man in that moment was glad of his blindness. He did not want to see Princess Allura’s beautiful face twist in hatred and pain.

“I found merchants,” he confessed, his emaciated body shuddering through another breath. “Those—who had survived m-my father’s massacre.” His harvesting scars tightened further, wrinkling his cheek. “I should have let them be. But the race was dying. Enslaved.” He opened his blind eyes, searching for her, trying to make her understand. “They were all d-dying.”

There was a pause before Allura swallowed hard. “Go on.”

His eyebrows knitted in pain. “I thought Planet Pollux…safe.” And then words failed him. No matter how he tried to phrase it, it all was too much. He fell silent, suddenly feeling hot. It burned up his throat and into his mind. His cracked lips opened in desperation for air. “But we were not.”

It fell silent.

“We?” Allura whispered.

Lotor’s face wore hard with defeat. “The witch,” he rasped, “can feel concentrated Altean energy.” He sighed, his feverish face flushed with shame. “She discovered my treason—against the empire.”

The princess’s mind began to race, connecting dots. “…And that’s how you came to be her prisoner?”

“Yes,” he whispered. His breaths grew shorter with pain.

Suddenly, his eyes widened as his distorted sense of touch began to flicker back to him—the cold air blowing across his body, the water dripping from his skin.

It lasted for but a second, and then nothingness returned.

Allura’s breath hitched. “You mean that Haggar did all of this—that any lives lost in the colony, the reason you were in a harvesting pod—it was _Haggar_.” Before he could respond, she demanded, “What did you hope to gain by building a colony, at such great risk?”

His emaciated face pulled into a grimace. “An army,” he admitted. “A loyal one. To overthrow my father’s empire.”

In another burst of senses, Lotor felt a cold washcloth gently slip along his flushed cheek. The touch was more hesitant than before but still as gentle as ever. A hope came over him, which was that the princess had not yet forsaken him to darkness. He closed his exhausted, feverish eyes and nuzzled into the feeling of her touch, his beautiful voice a rasp of a beg. “I was—desperate.”

And then his senses cut out again, and he could not feel her.

_Haggar’s clawed blue hand pulled on a lock of his hair, forcing him down to her eye-level. “I sense unfamiliar Altean energy upon you, my son,” she murmured, her yellow eyes narrowed._

_Lotor dared to roll his eyes to hide his panic. “A slave woman from the brothels,” he deadpanned, pulling away. “I do hope your sensibilities require no further explanation.”_

_The woman gripped his hand, her claws digging into his bare skin. Her eye twitched. “But they do.”_

_“I require neither your input nor your approval,” he complained._

_“You’ve always had a taste for Altean things, like your father,” the woman hissed. “But you have gone too far now.”_

_“What, simply because I allow an Altean to pleasure me?” He angled a brow at her. “Am I not half-Altean myself? Surely, this is no surprise.”_

_Haggar’s face twisted hard. “You fail to mention,” she snarled, “that your precious slave woman is one of many Alteans you have relocated to Pollux, beyond the quantum abyss.”_

_It fell fully silent in the room. Lotor’s eyes widened only a fraction, but it was enough to incriminate himself._

_Haggar’s fingertips crackled with energy. “My son. Do not think that after a thousand years, I would not perceive the deceptions within your truths.”_

Princess Allura’s voice broke. “And why?” she demanded. “Why would you use my people as an army to overthrow your father—to endanger them like that?” 

In that moment, unsettled emotion from the rift slipped into her voice. She longed to ask the same of the Lotor she’d left in the rift. _Why?_

On the bed, Lotor began to struggle up, his skeletal hands and claws digging into the bed. His body ached with an all-encompassing heat that felt like his joints were melting. “Y-you,” he rasped, “have friends.” As his broken body raised, his face twisted with deep pain. One sleeve of his robe pooled down at his elbow, revealing a broad, skeletal shoulder with more scars. “Entire planets who love you. I had—no one.”  

His vision, for a brief moment, flickered with shapes—the glowing of Allura’s tear-streaked face.

He never, in his wildest imaginings, thought he would be giving an account of his questionable actions to the last descendant of the royal Altean line. He desperately wanted her as a continuing ally. He shakily reached out to her, squinting his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. “I lost everything,” he pleaded desperately. “But had it worked, y-your people would have _thrived_.” He tried to search her eyes but could not perceive her emotions with such pixelated vision. He feared he’d made her terribly angry by her silence. “A New Altean empire, free of Galra.”

Allura’s breath hitched as her lips quivered. She suddenly felt as if she were standing back on the bridge of the Castle of Lions—

_“Allura, do not let this ruin everything we’ve worked for.”_

And then sitting in shock within Voltron—

_“All realities will fall to the New Altean Empire!”_

Lotor’s vision shorted out again, leaving him in darkness. He closed his eyes. Despite the adrenaline rushing through him—the pure panic—he was weakening. “Am I,” he said, voice hoarse and wavering, “a monster for it?” He swallowed hard, a scoff a miserable agony in his throat. “As p-pure as you are, especially in blood—you would find anything I do—inadequate.”

Allura blinked, and tears streamed from her eyes. She inhaled sharply at his insinuation. This man before her carried heavy scars of abuse, his beautiful voice so hopeless in want for a friend, his body so mutilated by his own mother. He seemed to accept blame for the very events orchestrated by Haggar—the death of any Alteans, his imprisonment and torture. And in the moment, she stopped thinking, her heart pulling hard in pain—

She enveloped him in a tight embrace, hiding her nose in the wet, straggly locks of his hair. He was bony and stiff and burned hot as sunlight against her.

Lotor’s breath hitched, his hands still splayed out with his claws in expectation of an attack. His feverish eyes darted blindly, and his mind raced at the feeling of the soft way she clung to him.

This was not an attack, he realized immediately. Something deep cracked within him.

The princess of Altea—the descendant of his most treasured idols—was embracing him, despite all of his mistakes and failures.

“You are not a monster,” she whispered shakily, her voice muffled by his hair and neck. The sound vibrated deep through his broken body. “I don’t care what your blood contains.”

He swallowed hard. And then his breath hitched again, and his eyes began to burn. His clawed fingers trembled as he dared to reach up and embrace her in return. He leaned into her, his blind eyes staring off into the gray. Tears slid down his hot, flushed cheeks as his breath shuddered unevenly. “I tried,” he said desperately. “I tried.”

Her voice was a whisper of great pain. “I know.”

He breathed in her flowery scent with ragged breaths, his feverish mind fragmented. “I know Alteans have s-suffered because of me.”

Allura dared to embrace him tighter. “Because of the witch,” she corrected. Her heart was both lighter and immensely heavier, as Haggar herself was Altean—an Altean she had once known to be beautiful and kind and too smart for her own good.

Lotor’s breath shuddered, his cracked lips pulling back hard with a half-contained sob. His claws retracted into blunt nails as they dug into her jumpsuit, as if to hold her to him forever. He could not remember the last time he’d been so fully embraced by another. Even if he could not see her, he could feel her raw acceptance, her willing desire to comfort a wretched, sickly half-breed who had endangered her people.  

He begged that his sense of touch would not leave him.

His eyes closed as he focused on her soft breath in his hair, her strong hands wrapped around his naked torso, openly accepting of his ugly scars. His flushed face leaned against her temple, his tears sliding into her white locks. Like this, he could feel the inhale and shaky exhale of her breath against him, and the fast pace of her heartbeat.

“You are a paragon of Altean virtue,” he murmured unsteadily, “to embrace me so.”  

The princess let out an inane huff of amusement as she slowly pulled away. Her hand came up to wipe her cheek of his sweat and the water from the washcloths. The front of her jumpsuit carried odd spots as well, with a ring where his arms had been. “Perhaps,” she said dryly, thankful for once that Lotor was still partially sense-deprived. “But I know some Galra more virtuous than I am.”

His words _—“A New Altean empire, free of Galra.”—_ rang alarmingly close to the words that the clone in the rift had cried.

_“Once I wipe out Voltron, I’m going to start a New Altea...I’m ready to wipe the universe clean of all my enemies—Voltron, Haggar, and **the rest of the Galra**.” _

Lotor’s blind, red-rimmed eyes opened in an attempt to blearily focus on her. In that moment, she saw a spark of the Lotor she knew. It was a cold, calculating expression that did not fit well on his emaciated face. The seed of insanity. “The virtuous Galra,” he said, tone modulating oddly, “are long dead. Only devils remain.”

Allura paused. “Surely, you don’t mean that,” she said softly.

The prince sunk back against his pillows, exhausted. His unusual expression remained. “I assure you,” he said hoarsely, “I do.”

Her full lips pursed. “There are millions of Galran citizens who live everyday lives. Many even assist the Voltron Coalition.”

A tired, white brow raised, almost in disbelief. His feverish, blind eyes searched for her. “You—sound as if you are defending them.”

“I am,” she said, voice firm.

A silence stretched between them. His body still burned with the tingles of her embrace, and yet here they were, at an impasse he had not at all expected. Lotor exhaled slowly, his mind racing. He struggled to understand why the last princess of Altea would, in any way, defend the barbaric and violent Galra—all that was left after his father purged the disloyal bloodlines and villages. But he did not wish to be at odds with her (he wanted her sympathy, her touch), and so he said carefully, “Please forgive my…disbelief.”

Just then, his vision began to pixelate once more, the darkness configuring into black and white shapes. He blinked hard.

A burst of color.

Princess Allura was back to sitting beside his bed to the left, and her blue and purple eyes were red-rimmed with tears. In her hand was one of the washcloths. “I understand,” she said hesitantly, “the Galra were not…generally kind to you.”

Lotor’s cracked lip curled into a smile without humor, revealing white fangs. His tired eyes focused on her face as she dunked the washcloth into the bucket on the floor. “You h-have no idea.”

The princess’s eyes flickered to his, realizing that he could see her again. Her gaze searched his. “Did you,” she asked quietly, “have _any_ happiness?” Her tone suggested that she was either trying to understand him or expose some flaw in his logic. Perhaps it was both. “A singular ally, even for a time?”

Lotor’s mind dared to think back before the purges and the last rebellions—to a time when a flight commander had given him a ship to fly. To escape to the farthest ends of the galaxy, away from the burning eyes of his mother and father and the violence of the purists. His throat closed up with emotion.

He then inadvertently accessed memories of the Alteans he had relocated to Pollux, and he inhaled sharply in great pain.

All of them—most likely dead or suffering an even worse indignancy than the one he sought to save them from.

Allura then realized the gravity of her question, and she added, voice strained, “I’m sorry. Perhaps it’s…not the right time to discuss such things. I’m afraid I’ve taken so much from you already.”

Lotor swallowed hard as he forced himself to focus on her once more. He knew she had the power to take anything she wanted from him. And yet the mysterious Princess Allura offered him many dignities, even in exchange for his noncompliance. The lump in his throat grew tighter. He wanted to say something— _You have taken nothing; you are too pure to even understand the word—_ but he remained tight-lipped again.  

“Just rest for now,” she commanded gently, a weak smile lighting her face. “Focus on healing.”  

He then felt the princess sweep the freezing cold washcloth down his neck and chest. His feverish body craved her cooling touch, and he closed his eyes in relief. In ways, he did not even care anymore that he was half-naked and vulnerable before her. She seemed to reward vulnerability with more comfort, every time. It was such a deviation from the reality he had known all of his life. He inanely thought that perhaps he should remain sick for as long as possible, if only to have Princess Allura of Altea touch him so freely. To speak so softly.

Once he was well, the princess would have no reason to touch him. Royal protocols and decorum would stay her hands and lift her voice into that diplomatic tone she had used in their first conversation.

He grimaced.

It was such a dangerous thought, to desire anything from her.

“Oh, are you in pain?” the princess asked in worry. “Am I hurting you?”

Lotor opened his eyes. The color of his vision was gone once more, Allura’s beautiful face pixelated with shadows. He shakily moved his hand over hers, his long fingers slipping over her petite, nimble hand and staying its movement. Her skin was cool, her knuckles calloused.

The princess’s eyes widened a fraction, and she flickered her gaze to his flushed face in worry.

His voice was strained. “This fever. I struggle—to think clearly.”

That made Allura blink, then narrow her eyes in concern. She placed her free hand over his forehead without preamble. And then she grabbed for the thermometer on the bedside table and unceremoniously stuck it in his mouth.

Lotor’s hand tightened over hers.

In time, the thermometer beeped. She gently pulled it away from him, biting her lip in worry as she read over the numbers.

And then she swallowed hard. Lotor’s fever had risen by another two degrees, suggesting that they had still not reached the peak of his illness. It was a wonder he had not already begun to hallucinate—or perhaps he thought _she_ was the hallucination.  

“Are you seeing things that aren’t there?” she dared to ask, searching his eyes.

He searched her right back, his eyes glowing with the force of his illness. His hot fingers intertwined in her own, and her hand twitched beneath his.

Color flickered back into his vision for a brief second. He caught the red of a blush upon her cheek.

“I fear I am,” he whispered. 

* * *

 

Not long after Allura had cleaned up the broken glass on the floor, Pidge barreled into the room, followed by Hunk, who carried a large, black fan with green highlights streaking over its shiny exterior. “I made the fan!” the girl declared.

Hunk added, “And I carried it.” His voice was a grunt from the weight of it. “Because I still don’t get how you make metal out of wood? But I tried. So I should totally still get brownie points for this.”

Pidge corrected, “Except _Alfreda_ carried it until we got to the headquarters.”

“I mean…yeah. But they didn’t need to know that, thanks a lot, Pidge.”

Allura sighed in relief as she dunked the washcloth back into the bucket, which now ran with condensation from the melting ice. “Thank the stars you two have arrived—we’re in desperate need of other measures for cooling him down.”

The prince on the bed was still sitting up against his pillows but looked terribly worn, his blind eyes searching for the location of the new voices. He was soaking wet and still flushed hard with fever. “Pidge,” he recognized. “Hunk.”

“In the flesh,” Pidge declared proudly, but she stared at him in increasing concern that he was not quite looking at her. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“His vision’s cut out again,” Allura said tiredly, wiping her forehead of a stray flyaway of hair. “And sometimes it is other senses. I fear his illness is as Coran predicted. But if we can decrease his fever, that might cut down on such effects.”

As Hunk set the fan down, Pidge narrowed her eyes at the princess. “Are _you_ okay?” She realized then the uncomfortable tension in the room.

The princess smiled painfully. “I will be. I have much to speak with you about at a later time, when it is more appropriate.”

“Well, don’t worry, guys,” Hunk said as he flipped the fan’s switch. “We’ll get Lotor feeling better soon. And then maybe we can hang outside? Have like, a barbeque? It’s freakin’ amazing weather, and you all are sitting here in the dark like it’s already midnight or something.”

The large fan began to hum into action, its sleek, dark blades crisscrossing as its outline began to glow green.

The soft breeze made Lotor exhale in relief, and the stress lines upon his face relaxed. “Thank you,” he said freely, his beautiful voice in a sigh. He could almost imagine he was at the edge of a cliff in spring. The air kissed his face and slipped through his hair like fingers, catching the water beads upon his skin and cooling him further. “This is—much better.”

Pidge approached somewhat hesitantly. “I made the fan myself.”

The prince hummed, and his elfin ears twitched. “It is quiet,” he praised her. His white brow knitted together in curiosity. “The material?”

“Nanocellulose, an electrically responsive form of polysaccharide,” Pidge offered.

Lotor considered the definition and then dared to ask, his curiosity deepening, “How is that possible?”

She walked closer, pulling the interface off of her own head. She looked a little excited to share in the knowledge. “Hold out your hand.”

He blearily raised a palm in submission to her request. Pidge carefully placed the interface in his shaking hand. “This is an Olkari interface,” she explained. “It goes on your head like a crown, and it receives signals from your brain to manipulate the planet’s nanocellulose into anything you want.”

A twitch of fascination appeared upon his lips. “Truly?” His thin fingers brushed over the elegant metal and wood to memorize its shape. “I assume, one must focus thought into—a particular syntax.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Pidge said, smiling that someone could finally understand things at her level. “It picks up on binary commands.”

“Most interesting.” His explorer’s heart longed to see the device with his own eyes, but he settled in the satisfaction that Pidge had let him hold it. He shakily offered it back to her.

Her small hands tickled his palms as she grabbed it. “You better get your eyes back soon,” she said, “so you can see my design. I bet you can’t design anything better.”

His exhausted face stretched with a tired smile. Oh, what a child she was. And how childish was he still, to desire to rise to her challenge. “I will h-have you know, young one, I do love a competition.”

Just then, the door to the infirmary opened again, carrying with it the air of one particularly muddy and disheveled Coran. “I’m alive!” he cried, limping forward with a clean teapot and teacup. His orange hair was caked with dust and what looked to be a piece of seaweed tied around his forehead.

Allura giggled at the sight of him, giving him a sympathetic look. “Oh, dear, Coran. What in the heavens happened?”

He sighed as he tiredly set the teapot and cup on the bedside table. “I fought the Olkari worm and put it into a nasty headlock while Keith and Shiro plucked the Ipurim flowers.” He wiped his forehead, unsettling his seaweed headband. “That worm was quite the unhappy little bugger.” He chuckled. “It tried to eat my head.”

Hunk yanked on the seaweed. “And uh, what’s this for?”

Coran turned to him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Olkari giant worms don’t like seaweed.” He elbowed Hunk, and a few clods of mud plopped off of him and onto the tile. “The instant I wrapped myself up in it, the crazy thing began to scream like I’d hacked off its three rows of teeth.” And then he ran a hand through his hair and pulled out a sharp, white object—a tooth. He pushed it into Hunk’s hand and added conspiratorially, “Save this for bartering with the Unilu.”

The yellow paladin looked down at the sharp tooth and how it still had a few chunks of gum matter on it, and his face turned a bit green. “Oh, wow. Um. A bloody tooth is in my hand—I am not okay with this.”

Pidge stood on her tip-toes and plucked it from him, staring at the tooth curiously. “That’s a sharp fang for a worm. Why was a _predator_ guarding something so innocent as flowers, anyway?”

Coran shrugged helplessly. “I wouldn’t say the worm guarded them. You see, you have to search for predator dens to find them. The Ipurim flowers are rare and grow only when fertilized by feces high in animal matter.”

On the bed, one panicked Lotor choked. His blind eyes opened wide and began to search for Coran in desperation. He struggled up to sit up straighter, forcing his broad, skeletal shoulders back into a more princely posture. A good portion of his hair fell out of his messy bun with the action. “I am fine,” he rasped suddenly. “I d-do not require this tea.”

And then Coran’s eyes turned to the prince, and some kind of dark satisfaction. “Oh, you’re going to drink it,” he declared. “I promised Princess Allura I would help keep you alive—and I shall.” He pulled on his mustache in delight. “I can make pots and pots of it now.”

“Please, good sir.” Lotor swallowed hard, looking truly disturbed. “Do not m-make me drink this tea.”

“Sorry,” the Altean man sang in dark delight. He was enjoying the look on the prince’s face and was most certainly not apologetic. “You know it’s good for you because it tastes so bad!”

Lotor’s blind eyes blinked. “…Princess?” he called out, attempting to leverage his most faithful ally.  

She hesitated, biting her lip to hide a terribly amused smile at his misery. It lightened her red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry, Lotor. You need all the help you can get. I trust Coran’s advice that this will help you fight your illness.”

He paused for a time, his mind racing. And then his eyes closed and he leaned back with a moan, defeated. A stormy pout flickered across his emaciated face.

“But,” Allura added with a merry sympathy, “if Coran can make so much now, I believe there should be enough for us all to try it with you.”

“Wait, what?” Hunk cut in nervously.

The princess turned to Coran. “It _is_ just a tea, correct? No side effects?”

“None at all,” he said. “I’ve heard it can even add a few years back to your life expectancy.” He snapped his fingers and then readjusted his seaweed headband. “I’ll go grab some more tea cups!” And he zipped out, more mud clods and dust flying off of him in his wake.

Lotor coughed lightly, his sense of smell shorting out at the overpowering scent of dirt. He looked vastly overwhelmed and surprised. “You would…drink this concoction with me?”

Pidge shrugged, staring at the teapot in morbid curiosity. “I’m game. Back home, we use cow manure to grow crops, so I can’t imagine this being much different.”

Hunk hummed, tapping a finger to his lips. “Good point, good point.” Then he added, “But if I drink a cup, I get to make desserts for dinner to balance out all the health. And we’re watching a chick flick tonight on the projector—my choice.”  

Allura leaned forward in interest, setting her elbows upon Lotor’s bed. She accidentally brushed up against his calf but tried to pay it no mind. “Oh, do make it a good one with a happy ending. Not like that _Titanic_. I cried for days, you know.”

“Hey, I did not suggest that,” Hunk said. “That was Keith because he’s weird and likes disaster movies and tragedies.”

“It traumatized Romelle too—I’m quite serious, Hunk. Happy endings only.”

Lotor’s face was now fully twisted in consternation. “What is a...chick flick?” He was sure he’d gone insane or was hallucinating, with the paladins agreeing to partake in his indignancy and speaking words that had no meaning.

Hunk said, “Chick flicks are romance movies, which are the best ever.” He paused. “And a movie is a recorded performance? You know, like a play?”

The ill prince struggled to keep up. “…Humans record plays as well as music?”

The yellow paladin gave him finger guns, but then realized that Lotor couldn’t see and wilted a bit. “Yeah. Although we’ve gotta get your sight back if you’re gonna watch with us. Man, I hope that tea really works.”

Pidge whined, “I wanna watch something cool, like that old _Pacific Rim_ movie.”

Hunk rolled his eyes playfully. “You just wanna watch that because it has giant robots fighting aliens. That’s _literally_ what we do every day.”

“I know—that’s what makes it cool.”

“Movies are about _escape_ , Pidge, mmkay?”

“Movies,” Pidge corrected, “are an imitation of life, just like other forms of art. And the robot tech in _Pacific Rim_ is badass, and you know it.”

Allura huffed lightly. “Do not let Shiro hear you use such a word, Pidge.” She leaned a bit toward Lotor and murmured as an aside, “He’s sensitive to the use of vulgar language. We all have to get a bit creative with our words as a result.” 

* * *

 

The bantering between the paladins was so pleasant a distraction that Lotor hardly realized time was passing. Before long, Coran had returned with a tray of several additional tea cups. He flew through the door in an array of dust and seaweed.

“Tea time,” he declared, “is served.”

At that point, Lotor had managed to regain some level of visual acuity, but his hearing had dampened, as had his sense of smell. He looked at the tea cups with a grimace, watching Coran pour a health serving into each. “Are you sure,” he pleaded, “this is necessary?”

“Absolutely,” the Altean man confirmed. He began to pass around the cups. “Princess. Pidge. Hunk. Aannnd…sweaty one with a bun.” He held out a warm cup to Lotor.

The prince sat up a bit straighter once more and tentatively grabbed onto the handle with an unsteady hand. He sent Princess Allura a hesitant look.

Allura smiled brightly to hide a sweat drop and directed her attention to the greenish-brown water in her cup. “Well, I must say, Coran. This does look a bit harrowing. What did you say it tasted like again?”

Coran casually sipped from his teacup, his pinkie out in a flourish of style and poise. “Sandpaper.”

“…Right. Well then—to health.” As the princess, she knew she tended to set the precedence; if she did it, then likely Lotor and the others would as well. She bit her lip once before she raised the cup and primly took a sip. It tasted like a watered-down grass, along with a terrible grime not unlike sandpaper. She gagged almost immediately. Her eyes watered as she quickly swallowed. She set down the cup, and with as much poise as any princess could, she said, voice a bit of a rasp, “It’s…not so bad.”

“What’s it taste like?” Pidge leaned forward. “Sandpaper, like Coran said?”

She couldn’t stand it any longer. She began to fan her face a bit. “Yes,” she managed to say in the middle of a miserable giggle. “With a hint of vegetation.”

Pidge looked over at Hunk, who looked a bit more hesitant. “Bottoms up,” they both cried together and took a drink. A second passed. They both immediately sputtered and began choking between giggles of their own and a retch or two, all while Coran continued to sip from his cup calmly.

Lotor’s fingers tightened on his cup. He realized then what Allura had so insidiously employed against him—peer pressure and pride. If the children and _the Princess herself_ could dare to drink the concoction, then surely he could too.

Clever princess.

Pidge was still choking a bit as she turned to him expectantly, eyes lit in childish mischief. “Come on. You have to be miserable too.”  

“I already am,” he retorted playfully. But with as much poise as he could exude, the feverish prince raised the tea cup to his lips. Silty water slipped into his mouth, the grime sticking to his fangs and tongue in a most unnatural way. All of the paladins leaned forward in curiosity. He swallowed with a grimace and paused for a time.

“Well?” Pidge demanded.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse in relief. “…Thank the stars—I have lost my sense of taste.”

All of the paladins face-faulted, including Princess Allura. She pursed her lips. “That is entirely unfair,” she complained, a glint in her eye.

Lotor felt a genuine smile stretch his lips, his sharp fangs glimmering in the dark. “I cannot help it, princess.”

She sniffed. She still looked a bit green, as if the drink had not settled in her stomach. “Yes, well—I should be very interested to see what you do when you get your senses back.”

Pidge cut in with a narrowed gaze at Lotor. “Ten bucks says he hurls.”

“He can eat bone and dirt,” Hunk disagreed playfully. “Ten bucks says he’ll _like_ the stuff.”

“Oh, you’re on.” 

And despite his raging illness and the deep exhaustion in his bones, Lotor felt a sudden, peculiar emotion—that he was in the right place with the right people, who were terribly pure and brilliant and oddly accepting of him, even as he sat in the infirmary, openly vulnerable and scarred in ways that any full-blooded Galra would decry as dishonorable. He marveled at the moment.

And then his smile faltered an imperceptible fraction, in fear that such a sense of belonging would not last.

It never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I cannot believe that Season 7 comes out in August. I figured it would come out next year, and then I’d be done with this story and could totally justify how canon-divergent it is. Nnggh. (I want to watch season 7? But I also don’t because I fear that it’ll rip my heart out even more? This is so painful.)
> 
> Anyway, I had fun writing this chapter because I continue to be healing/sick myself, and Lotor’s my favorite damsel in distress to take stress out on. If anything in this chapter borders on crack!fic, then I entirely blame Coran, because I was going for angst before he showed up. XD 
> 
> Also in this chapter, I wanted to show that I’m not entirely overwriting canon!Lotor’s vices. Of all the issues season-6-Lotor had, I thought his desire to finish off “the rest of the Galra” was perhaps the most realistic, given that Sendak so openly threatened him with slavery at the Kral Zera, and that everyone seemed to dislike his mixed blood. Who knows what he really endured growing up??
> 
> Also, this story’s currently rated T. I’m debating moving to M, because of Lotor’s flashbacks and possible future adult situations. Thoughts? 
> 
> Please let me know if you’d like to see more! Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following awesome people for reviewing last time: anything_past_or_present, Gabriel, reyechan, Sydney, Roseoftheempire, Nagisa, TiffanyBlue, electronicpencil, Sachi, UltraFirelily, NickyADon, Stroshimi, Amanda, Smallblaa, Jet_Lignite, RinoaHeart, Kyndall, Rebecca, Gyogyo, hirraeth, CarlyChameleon, AMountainFullOfDragons, EllieDoll, IndigoBunting, pinkychan, and Greenwren. I really appreciate your support! It means so much to me! 
> 
> You can read indivdiual review replies [here](https://lotura-archive.tumblr.com/post/176607207613/the-second-law-chapter-7-review-replies)! (I know how to link stuff in chapter notes now! I'm evolving!) 
> 
> As a quick note, I’m maintaining this story (for now) at a high T. This story will definitely contain some physical relationship / sexual encounters, but if things should become truly M-rated, I’ll change the rating accordingly and will provide a warning in that chapter. 
> 
> And omg, people, I am so delighted to link you to absolutely fabulous fanart of my story that two super amazing people did for me. I’m so thankful for the time and effort they put into these gorgeous pieces: 
> 
> [Here is slojhnokak’s fanart!](https://slojhnokak.tumblr.com/post/176487070056/for-the-second-law-ls)
> 
> [Here is gyodragon’s fanart!](http://gyodragon.tumblr.com/post/176513617216/yes-i-am-here-fanart-for-the-second-law-ls)
> 
> Please check out and support their work! (*dies of happiness.*)

After a few more cups of the Ipurim flower tea, Lotor began to feel vitality return to him. He still could not taste the strange liquid, but there was a spark returned to his irises and increased strength in his bones. “Fascinating,” he slurred with the thermometer sticking out from his lips. He raised a skeletal wrist, noticing that his reddened harvesting scars were a few shades lighter than he remembered. He peered at himself with almost a scientific curiosity. “Do you see its effects as well?”

The Princess unceremoniously pushed up on his chin to shut his mouth. “The thermometer doesn’t work if you talk, you know,” she said, voice playful. “And yes, I see that you do look a deal better.”

He looked up at her and dared to narrow his eyes merrily in complaint of her bossiness, his chin burning with her touch. The spark of life in him brightened as he held her gaze.

 “Yeah,” Pidge tossed a wet washcloth at him, and it slapped his bare chest with a squish before he could even look her way. “You’re not sweating like a pig anymore.”

It broke the moment and inspired Allura to giggle. Lotor made a face at Pidge to express his displeasure at the insult. With some concentration, he lifted the dripping washcloth and threw it back. She ducked and narrowly avoided the sopping wet projectile—

—And the washcloth instead hit the oblivious Coran right in his gut while he was looking away. “Oof!” The Altean nearly dropped his tea in surprise. Another clod of dirt fell from him. Then he looked down at the ground to the now-dirty washcloth, and to the large wet stain seeping through the material of his suit. He looked up, eyes narrowing to slits. “Now I say, who did that?”

Lotor’s mouth zipped entirely shut then, his yellow sclerae widening with innocence. Pidge pointed a finger at Lotor, who pointed back at Pidge.

Coran looked back down at the washcloth to analyze its trajectory, and then his eyes narrowed back to Lotor. “ _You_. And after all I’ve done for you—fighting worms, picking flowers, making you tea.” A crocodile tear appeared in his eye. “This is the thanks I get?”

Just then, the thermometer began to beep. Allura pulled it gently from Lotor’s mouth and told Coran, “To be fair,” she said distractedly, “he _was_ trying to hit Pidge.”

“And then she ducked,” Lotor defended himself. He ran his tongue over his fangs, his mouth still uneasy with the metallic taste of the thermometer. “Blame her for failing to be your shield.”

The human girl scoffed in disbelief. “Blame him for throwing it! I wasn’t gonna stick around to get a sweaty washcloth to the face.”

“I have a high fever,” the prince said hoarsely, raising his chin. “Perhaps I hallucinated she was an enemy attacking.”  

Allura cut in, biting her lip to hide a smile as she waved the thermometer. “Actually, Lotor, it would appear your fever decreased by a full point. You’re not entirely out of danger, but you shouldn’t be having hallucinations.”

He leaned back on his pillows and sighed out something almost like a grumble, his beautiful eyes rolling up to her in betrayal. “I had no choice but to retaliate,” he argued with her.

Hunk snorted as he crossed his arms. “Yeah, because Pidge was totally twisting your arm to get into a fight.”

Lotor’s voice was growing a bit hoarse from overuse. “She _did_ insult me, you know.” Then he tiredly closed his eyes, his small jaunt of energy wearing down. “I cannot help that this illness has made me sweat, whatever a pig is.” His feverish face carried an ease with it nevertheless, as if he were attempting to soak up the playful banter for as long as possible.

The yellow paladin’s eyes glinted. “One word about pigs, man: bacon. It’s the tastiest food ever for carnivores.”

In the background, Coran was still grumbling, pulling at his tight shirt and staring at the wet stain on it.

Pidge poked Lotor’s leg. “Except one piece of bacon can take, like, six doboshes off your life expectancy.”

He opened one cobalt eye. “Can it now?” And then he wearily tried to readjust his position on the bed, his strength weakening. “How in the universe would you determine that?”

Allura watched him, a spark of concern lightning within her. “Perhaps you’ve had enough excitement for the moment,” she said. “Your spirit may be returning, but your body still needs much rest, or else we’ll lose ground again.” She sent a warning glance to Hunk and Pidge. “We _all_ should let you sleep before dinner. And no foods that decrease life expectancy by six doboshes.”

Hunk stood up, unsettled by the stern, motherly look. “Oh boy, you know—I forgot I was I gonna make dessert for dinner, and then I gotta find a good movie—and man, Allura, you look scary like that.” He gave her a bright smile and laughed nervously. “So I’m gonna go now, bye!”  

He squeaked out from his chair and bolted through the door.

Pidge stood up as well, looking a little disappointed. “I guess I do have stuff to work on for our new Castle of Lions in the meantime.” She pushed her glasses up. “Will you be okay now?” she asked Lotor. “Like, you’re not gonna die or go blind again?”

The prince turned his head to look at her. His gaze softened a fraction. “I will be fine.”   

Her small face stretched with a smile. “Good.” And then she left, giving a nod to Allura.

The princess turned her attention to Coran, who remained standing by the counter, looking particularly devious. “Coran?”

“I’ll leave soon,” the Altean man said. “But I’d like to have a little chat between me and sweaty one with a bun. One-on-one, you see.” And then he chuckled to himself. “Oh, that rhymes.”

The princess hesitated. “…Very well. But be _nice_ ,” she warned. “If I hear yelling of any kind, I’m coming back in to rescue him.”

A halo appeared over Coran’s head. “I’m always nice, princess,” he said merrily, saluting her. His seaweed headband loosened from his forehead to fall upon his shoulders like a lei.

Allura narrowed her eyes but said nothing as she slipped through the door herself.

But the instant Allura left, the easy expression on Coran’s face shadowed into narrowed eyes and a tight-lipped pout.

Lotor stared at him in suspicion, waiting. He debated if the man would attempt to suffocate him with a pillow or otherwise strangulate him with the seaweed. This…Coran was a bit spastic and older in age, but his form suggested he was no weak fool.

Perhaps the tea was just to lure him into a false sense of security.

Coran strode up to the bed, still dripping dust and mud clods. He poked Lotor’s chest. “I want you to know something, young man, and I want you to listen well. Don’t think your game of playing, ‘ooh poor little me, I have the sniffles’ is going to work.” He leaned in, almost nose to nose, one eye squinted hard. “I’m watching you like an Altean vulo watches its prey.” He leaned in more, further narrowing his eyes.

Lotor blinked, trying to lean away from Coran. “What is a vulo?”

The Altean sweat-dropped. “I…thought you’d know what that was.” And then he straightened up, raising his chin gallantly. “Never mind about the vulo, then! I’m watching you like the incredibly concerned person that I am about Princess Allura!” He poked Lotor’s chest again. “Also, you owe me several debts. I need a new moustache comb and either replacement gloves or something to clean them.”

Lotor grimaced. “Why do _I_ owe you such things?”

“Because you flayed the princess’s face!” Coran exclaimed, as if Lotor were an idiot. “My gloves are still covered in her blood. You have no idea what kind of trauma that caused me—you’re lucky I’m not asking for more!” He plucked his suit. “And you’ve dirtied my clothes again. You have terrible manners, young man. Just terrible.”

The prince paused, recalling the blood welling down Princess Allura’s frightened face—the sound of Coran’s frightened voice—

Most of his memories of that time were a blur to him, thankfully. He still managed a grimace. “But I have no money to buy you such parcels.”

“Then you’ll work for it,” Coran declared with a glint in his eye. “As soon as you’re back on your feet—the stars know the Voltron Coalition could use another pair of hands in rebuilding our Castle of Lions.” And then he sweat-dropped as he looked at the prince’s emaciated frame, which seemed as though it would break under the weight of a feather. “Although I’m not sure you could even hold a paper towel at this point, much less a wrench.” 

Lotor’s thin lips pressed into a tight line. “Princess Allura has guaranteed my freedom within this…coalition.”

“Ah ha—you might be free, sweaty one with a bun, but even the princess says you owe me a debt. Go ahead and ask her about it if you don’t believe me.”

His cobalt eyes narrowed. “I will be sure to do so. Even if she confirms this to be so, then what would you have me do?” he demanded shortly.

The Altean hummed and scratched his chin. “Well, I can’t have you going around flirting with the princess all the time—"

“—I do not flirt,” Lotor cut in, scandalized, eyebrows knitting with increasing emotion.  

“—And it should be something that’ll help you put some meat on those bones.” Coran pulled on his mustache in thought. He chuckled lightly to himself. “You’ll scare the children here, looking like a quiznaking skeleton.”

“I beg your pardon,” the prince retorted, sitting up a bit straighter in his bed. His face, still flushed with fever, seemed to tinge a deeper violet.

The Altean wasn’t listening. He snapped his fingers. “Yes, I know exactly what I’ll have you do. Not to worry, it’s perfect for your bird bones. And you’ll have more than enough GAC left over to get yourself something useful—like a haircut.”

Lotor deadpanned, “Pray tell what job this is.”

Coran beamed. “…Painting the ship hull!” He patted the face-faulted boy’s shoulder. “Pays 500 GAC per varga!”

And then he disappeared out the door in a flail of limbs, leaving behind one bewildered prince.

“…500 GAC?” he called out, his beautiful voice in a twist of surprise. “Simply for painting?”

No answer.

The prince remained sitting upon the bed in a daze for a time, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of events in his life. And yet, despite the storm of thoughts he had, he forced himself to focus on what Coran had just unwittingly revealed. 500 GAC was a substantial amount of money for a tradesman—which said quite a bit about the state of his father’s empire.

His mind began to race. There was inflation. That meant there was increasing debt, and that the money reserves were printing more and more to keep up with debt demands.

Likely, 500 GAC did not mean as much as it would have before his imprisonment.

But it still seemed like such a sharp incline—if his father’s empire and the GAC were so unstable, then Coran would not be so eager to market the amount.

Exactly _how much time_ had passed while he was imprisoned?

Lotor slowly swung his legs off the bed to sit up, feeling sticky and sweaty against the white bedsheets. The movement was more than he had tried since awakening and left him light-headed for several ticks. He leaned forward, testing the strength of his skeletal arms.

He then ran his fingers along the edge of his robe, noting the silk of it for the first time and that his claws had nicked several threads. His face tightened—likely, he would have to pay for it as well, and any other clothes they so bestowed upon him.  

The prince closed his tired, sunken eyes as he centered himself, feeling the heat of his fever still rage through him. “A painter,” he mused, voice breaking with an odd combination of humor and depression.  

A thousand years of training, fighting, deceiving—another untold amount of time as Haggar’s lab rat…only to find himself in the company of team Voltron, employed as a simple tradesman.

“…As if I am worthy even of that,” he retorted to himself, his humor faltering into a sense of disquiet. He lifted his thin hands and opened his cobalt eyes, noting the small nicks and scars he had accumulated over the centuries on his fingers and wrist—as well as several marks from laboring in chains in Haggar’s lab. His hands fell listlessly to his lap.

After all the witch had forced him to build—all that he had done—

_“Is it finished?”_

_“No, witch.” He winced against his chains cutting into his ankles and leveled a dark glare._

_“Hnn.” She tilted her head and raised up a plate of food. “Then you will go a thirteenth quintant without food.” And the plate suddenly sparked into nothing, her fingers falling down to her side._

Lotor pushed forward off the bed with a sharp inhale, his white hair falling fully from its bun to tumble down his scarred face. His open robe slipped down to his elbow, and his closed eyes tightened in pain. He rose to his full height, a skeletal palm sinking into the bed to steady himself. Even the small action made his feverish body ache.

But then something small and circular pressed oddly into his hand. His pained eyes opened and darted to the bed, and he shakily removed his palm. There, upon the bed, glittered Princess Allura’s pink hair tie. She had so gently offered it in his misery, merrily laughing with Pidge as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Lotor stared at the tie for a time.

It was a simple eternal knot, woven with a metallic thread that caught the smallest glimmer of light, even in the darkness.

His scarred fingers curled around it as if it were glass.

* * *

 

 “So,” Keith asked, rubbing a towel through his hair.  A few water droplets shined down his skin from a recent shower to wash away all the dirt and grime from his adventure with Coran and Shiro. “Did it help?”  

The princess smiled weakly as she sat down in the kitchen, opposite of Keith. “I believe Lotor’s on the mend now, yes. His color improved almost immediately, and his speech and breath are no longer labored.” Her expression softened. “I cannot thank you enough for assisting Coran with obtaining the Ipurim flowers. And I know Lotor would thank you as well, if you would ever introduce yourself.”

The paladin huffed in amusement. “I don’t know. I heard from Pidge how bad that tea tastes.” He pulled the towel from his dark hair and carded his fingers through the wet strands. “He might not _want_ to meet me after that.”

Allura giggled, but the sound was caught between sadness and amusement. “I’m afraid it truly is terrible.”

“…You tried it?”

“I did.” She raised her chin proudly. “And I did not retch, unlike Hunk and Pidge, who made quite a fuss after trying it with me.”

At that, one Hunk lifted his head from where he was rummaging through pots and pans to make dinner. “Uh, excuse me? I’d just like to go on record for saying that I saw my _life_ flash before my eyes. I thought I was gonna die for a second—you’re just lucky that all I did was gag.”

Keith’s lips stretched into a handsome smile, but his eyes remained focused on the stress lines on Allura’s face. “Why would you drink that stuff? You’re not even sick.”

The princess’s light-heartedness began to bleed out of her voice, leaving only exhaustion and worry. “Well, no, but Lotor looked so tragically burdened by the thought of drinking it that I could not let him suffer alone. He’s lived such an unhappy life, I fear.”

“And what exactly,” Keith asked, voice careful, “has he told you? You said you had some important information?”

Allura pressed her lips together for a time. “Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I…understand that Lotor tends to operate by deception through omission, but what he has confessed does not bode well for the remains of my people.”

The paladin leaned a bit closer in concern, his dark brows knitting together. “You’re talking about the colonies.”

She nodded. Her beautiful face twisted with pain. “He said Haggar can sense Altean energy, and that she discovered the colony not long after the initial relocation.” She nervously picked at a hand on her hand. “I know you’ve had the Blades watching over Pollux since…Shiro’s incident. But it seems their location has been compromised for much, much longer. I am not sure we can continue to wait on bringing them into the borders of the alliance, even if Haggar has not yet struck against them.”

Keith’s face hardened with stress. “So wait, she knew? This whole time, Haggar knew about them?”

“Yes,” Allura whispered, pained. “Lotor was distraught to admit that he’d led her right to them.”

The sound of background kitchen noise stopped. Hunk wiped tuber flour from his hands on his Olkari apron and came to lean up against the counter. “Wait, wait. You’re saying that everything we thought we knew about the colonies is wrong?”

She hesitated. “Perhaps not all of it. Lotor’s motivations for the colony were not altruistic. He desired an army to overthrow his father, in which thousands of Alteans like Bandor might still have fallen under his reign.” Her breath hitched. “And if he had managed to establish a New Altean Empire, then I fear he would have committed terrible crimes against the Galra as well.” 

Hunk’s voice softened. “So you’re saying he’s still evil?”

“Evil is a strong word for it. I’m…filling in gaps myself, but I assume he has endured many abuses at the hands of some Galran or another. He told me that there are no virtuous Galra left.” Allura looked up at Keith with great pain. “That is a prejudice I might have once shared with him but now know to be so terribly, terribly wrong. If this Lotor had succeeded in his original plan…”

There was a great silence between the three.

Keith moved and placed a hand over Allura’s. Her breath hitched, and she grabbed onto his palm, gratefully accepting his comfort. “Hey,” he said. “Listen. The important thing is, he didn’t succeed. A lot of our allies aren’t too cracked up about believing in good Galra either, but we’ve been helping to change their minds. I’m pretty sure we can help Lotor too. It just takes time.”

Allura’s voice weakened. “And if we cannot? Then what will we do with him? Lock him up, as Haggar did?”

Hunk waggled his brows and leaned in a bit closer. “I’m pretty sure he’d be happy as our resident taste-tester for all my experimental dishes. I’m not kidding, the guy just about cried over food.”    

She managed a weak smile, but the crease of worry did not disappear from between her brows. “I’ve not even had a chance to discuss the clones we found, or the nine-thousand years that have passed. I’m afraid, to gain all that I did, I led him to believe we were unaware of the colonies.” She gently pulled her hand away from Keith’s to set her elbow on the table and lean her chin into her palm. “Now, I do not even know where to begin.” 

Keith bit his lip. “If he’s healing, then we need to start sharing information. The more time that passes, the more likely he’ll question trusting us when he finds things that don’t add up.”

Allura sighed. “And how do you suppose I tell him all of this? And not only those pieces, but that he—in his clone’s life—killed his father, harvested my people, tried to kill us all, and was the Galran Emperor? Do you not think that will be a shock to him?”

Hunk raised a finger to count off. “Don’t forget. He proposed. And he kissed you.”

The princess’s full lips dropped open a fraction, and her face tinged in a blush. Her voice raised into a tight squeak. “Hunk!”

“What? All that talk about royal alliances and—”

“—Wait,” Keith cut in, face in a twist of surprise, “he kissed you?”

Allura looked back at him in horror.

Hunk then looked at Keith as well. “You didn’t know? I thought everybody knew.”

“ _No one_ ,” Allura cut in, face red as a tomato, “was supposed to know.” She turned suspicious eyes to Hunk.

He raised his hands in surrender, eyes wide. “Hey, Pidge and I were looking over the security footage we took from the Castle of Lions. I thought we were just out of the loop. That’s all. I swear. Also, it was a beautiful kiss? For what it’s worth?”

“Pidge knows too?” Allura pressed tightly, her horror rising to even greater heights.

Keith sat back in his chair, eyeing Allura with shock and an odd sense of admiration. “So you kissed this guy and still had the guts to flip him across the ship and knock him unconscious? That’s…kind of awesome.”

It was strangely a very Galra thing to do. Krolia would have been proud.

“It did not feel awesome,” she retorted in pain. “I felt very much betrayed. And no—” she turned to Hunk with glaring eyes— “I will _not_ be telling this Lotor anything about that kiss. It was a terrible mistake.”

“Ah, come on,” Hunk pleaded. “He’d probably go all red in the face and stutter for days. It’d be hilarious. Like, straight out of a romantic comedy.”

“It would be vastly unfair to him.” The princess’s voice grew short and clipped with frustration. “He’s not the same man, and it would forever color his vision of me and the friendly relationship I’ve so far built with him.”

The yellow paladin deadpanned, “…Yeah, don’t pretend like he doesn’t enjoy you fawning over him.”

“I do not fawn,” Allura retorted.

“You fawn,” said both Keith and Hunk dryly.

There was a pause between them all. The princess bit her lip, her beautiful face blushing up to the tips of her elfin ears. She asked slowly, voice strained, “…Is it that obvious?”

Hunk shrugged. “I mean, he hasn’t complained to us about it. He told Pidge he likes you babysitting him.”

Allura’s breath hitched, and she began to wring her hands. “W-well, I’m sure he said it simply to entertain Pidge. He is quite fond of jesting with her, you know.”

Keith and Hunk looked at each other for a time and said nothing.

The princess begged, “Please do not tell the others—especially Lotor—about the kiss. I know you two do not care much for tradition or royal protocol, but it was a shameful thing, what I did. I should like to have a fresh start with him.” She smiled weakly. “To be genuine allies, good friends.”

Hunk appeared ready to ask something, but Keith gently whacked him with the hair towel.

“Allura,” Keith cut in, “whatever you wanna be with him is your decision. We won’t tell anyone about the kiss. But we really do need to focus on gaining his intel, and that means giving him something.”

“I know,” she said, voice pained. And then she raised weary eyes to Keith. There was a pause before she spoke again. “In the meantime, what can we do for Pollux, given what we understand now?”

The black paladin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “The Coalition ships we have can’t pass safely into the quantum abyss. We’ll have to continue holding off on a mass-scale evacuation until we get our new Castle of Lions built. But I can update the Blades about Lotor’s intel on Haggar. They might be able to help turn Haggar’s inner circle against her, if they know that she’s been withholding concentrated quintessence all for herself.” 

“And if she strikes against the colony before we can evacuate?” Allura pressed. “What then?”

Keith bit his lip. “She must still need them because she hasn’t tried anything yet. But this is why we need Lotor’s intel on how to take down Haggar as soon as possible. Their lives could be chess pieces in a game I really don’t want to play.”

* * *

 

In the infirmary bathroom, Lotor stared at himself in the mirror, shakily leaning against the edge of the sink to hold up his weak body. Aside from distorted reflections upon metal surfaces, he had not clearly seen his face since before his imprisonment. He’d been far too tired the night before to even care about looking in a mirror.

But now…

He did not recognize himself.

The prince raised a trembling hand in horror. He trailed his finger from the top of his nose to across his emaciated cheek. Despite all the princess had done for him, his features were still horribly distorted, as if his skin were pulled too tight over his skull. When he grimaced, it wrinkled his grayish cheek and scars. He’d known the unnatural heat of a harvesting scar and its shapes down his body many times over. But the full picture of himself, so worn and emaciated, disturbed him greatly.

 _This_ was how Princess Allura and the paladins saw him? This scarred wraith of a man?

_“At last,” Haggar murmured, grabbing his chin too hard, “you’re finally useful for something.”_

He pulled away sharply, stepping back in an attempt to distance himself from his own image. His spine hit the wall behind him.

He tried to breathe, but he could not seem to remember to inhale. Before he knew it, he was sliding down the wall, his white hair and robe bunching up on the tile. He shakily began to rub the harvesting scar on his wrist, slowly at first and then with increasing obsession.

The prince’s breath hitched. His gray-lavender skin began to redden with his efforts. The evidence of his mother’s insanity was carved deeply within him, all over his body—suffocating—

For one wild moment, he thought he was back in Haggar’s lab, his own obsessive rubbing of his wrist like the harsh feeling of a metal cuff on his skin. He could not escape—he could not escape—

_“Stop resisting,” she hissed._

And then there was a scampering sound.

Lotor flinched back to awareness. His elfin ears perked up, his bloodshot eyes honing to a vent beside the sink. He could hear paws—tiny animals.

The vent kicked in, and suddenly out poured the small invaders in a tumble of fur and tails and squeaks.

The prince’s hand slipped from his reddened wrist, and his beautiful voice broke with a huff of exhaustion and incredulity. “…What is this?”  

The small, furry animals responded to the sound of his voice, their small faces lifting up to eye him. There were four in total, of various sizes and colors. And for a time, there was silence between them. The rodents stared at him unblinkingly, their ears and noses twitching.

Lotor furrowed his brows. “Go away,” he said tiredly to them. 

They did not obey him. Instead, they began to scamper closer.

He stared at them in consternation. “I do not have food. Go away.”

But they continued forward, pawing their way to his long legs, which were stretched out on the tile floor. The large one dared to hop onto his knee, its paws kneading into the soft material of his pants. Lotor was far too exhausted from his walk and from his emotional turmoil to move or push the strange animal off of him.

“Can you not see,” he said, voice raising as his white brows knitted, “that I am _sick_ and—” His voice trailed off. “And you are…clean?” Their coats were smooth and shined in the dim light with the evidence of perfect grooming.  

He blinked. And then his eyes narrowed in realization. “You are _pets_.”

They chittered at him in excitement, speaking a language he most certainly did not understand. Oddly, he suspicioned they rather understood him. Their eyes gleamed with a level of intelligence he had never before seen in such small creatures.

It inspired his instinctive curiosity.

“But whose are you?” He raised out a trembling hand, focusing hard to control his movement. The mice seemed to cheer silently, and the smallest tentatively approached his fingers, sniffing.

Then it crawled up on his open palm. In an even stranger display, it shook its head and readjusted its fur in such a way that reminded him of—

“—The princess?” he murmured hesitantly. “You belong to Princess Allura?”

The small one cheered silently and wiggled a bit to show its excitement.

Lotor then began to question what his life had come to. Here he was, sitting on a bathroom floor and making small talk with animals. His bloodshot eyes stared at them in awe.

Perhaps he had simply gone mad—in which case, it was not an entirely unpleasant experience.

“Are you Altean like the princess?” he asked, lifting the small mouse to ease his line of sight. “Truly, your colorings do not match what I have seen of this world.”

The small one—he assumed they had names to discover later—began to move forward up his palm with something of an affirmative squeak. Its paws scampered along his robe’s sleeve, reaching for his broad shoulder. It nestled itself into the crook of his neck and tightened into a tired little ball within his hair.

He then realized that the three other mice were burrowing into him as well. They seemed particularly interested in huddling for heat, which he had more than enough of with his fever and Galran blood.

His cobalt eyes crinkled with a genuine humor, and in that moment, he was able to ignore the harvesting scars down his body in favor of the mice. “You are looking for a warm bed? And you have chosen me?” He dared to reach out to run a finger along the soft back of the mouse laying atop his thigh, and he smiled, revealing many sharp fangs. “You should know I am a predator. Were I still in the witch’s lab, I would eat you without a second thought.”

They did not care. He decided he did not either and so leaned his head back against the tiled wall, closing his eyes. His elfin ear flicked with the sound of the small one’s little breaths and rapid heartbeat. The sound was soothing—to be wanted by another living thing, even if it were a mouse.

“Apologies are in order if you remain with me,” he murmured to them all. He blearily plucked at his sweat-soaked robe. “I hobbled to this room intending to bathe. I know I smell of sickness.”

A soft squeak answered, and a little nose pressed into his neck.

The prince inanely hummed in reply, eyes still closed. “I assume that means you do not mind.”

Another squeak, oddly upturned as if it were a question.

Lotor inhaled deeply, his emaciated torso billowing with the outline of his ribs. And then he exhaled in a sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “No, I do not usually smell of metal. I assume that is the tinge of the harvesting pod.”

One of the mice upon his leg tried to readjust its position, but Lotor’s body was bony enough that it slipped down his calf with a surprised squeak.

His breath hitched, and he tried to laugh out a chuckle, but it was a bitter, weak sound. “Yes, I suppose I am all skin and bone now. But I was once strong.” He swallowed back emotion. “For a half-breed.” 

The mouse crawled back to him, this time poking at his left hand and pushing open the fingers to plop its furry body into his palm. Lotor dutifully lifted the mouse to his abdomen and held him there, his exhausted hand falling limp against himself.  

“Perhaps it is well you found me,” he murmured in defeat. “I am liable to drown myself in this state.”

The small one who had nuzzled into his neck had fallen asleep, lulled by the baritone of his voice.

In his bone-deep exhaustion, Lotor closed his eyes. He meant to do so only to center himself, but then he found he did not want to open his eyes and this was as good a place to sleep as any. He soon drifted off into a doze, limbs relaxed fully against the tiles as he listened to the rhythm of four little heartbeats.

* * *

 

Sometime later, one Princess Allura of Altea returned to Lotor’s room to check on him. In her hands, she carried Olkari robes, which included loose-fitting pants, an orange undershirt, and a standard white overgarment. If he were feeling better, then she imagined he would appreciate wearing something more socially appropriate and not soaked in sweat.

Upon opening the door, she realized that the infirmary bed was empty, with the sheets still pulled aside.

Her heart stopped. “Lotor?” she called out softly. Her eyes darted about the dark room, only to notice that the bathroom door was halfway open, its dim light on. But everything was silent.

And then she caught sight of a skeletal hand limp on the bathroom floor, a slumped over shadow...

She panicked. “Lotor!”

Without preamble, she tossed the perfectly folded clothes onto the bed and raced to the bathroom, opening the door.

And there he was, slumped against the wall with his head bowed forward and limbs limp, his robe in a crumple about him. His face was hidden by his hair, which had fully fallen out of its bun.  

Allura dropped down in fright, reaching out to him. She patted Lotor’s cheek with one hand and then with her other she swept aside his sweaty hair to check his forehead. His skin was still flushed with fever, but it did not seem particularly higher.

It was then she noticed one familiar mouse snoozing away in the crook of his neck, as well as a second mouse cradled in the curl of his hand against his abdomen…and was that another in his robe pocket?

A bleary, cobalt eye opened. “Princess?” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

“What in the heavens are you doing on the bathroom floor?” she demanded, her adrenaline still pounding her heart hard. Her beautiful eyes searched his for any sign of a concussion or pain.

She found no such evidence—only the sleepy expression of a man interrupted from a dream.

His voice was an airy groan. “…I am on a floor?”

“Yes,” she deadpanned in concern. “You are.”

He ran a hand down his face in a disjointed way. Then he opened both eyes and gazed about. “So I am,” he said, as if he were not particularly bothered by it.   

“Did your legs give out?” she pressed. “Were you dizzy?”

Lotor struggled for a second to recall any memory prior to sleeping, his eyes flickering to her in a vague blankness. Then he slowly remembered the sight of his own face—his back hitting the wall—the mice falling through the vent. It was easier to go along with her assumptions, and so he said, “Yes.”

“Are you in pain at all?”

He was. His chest felt as though something were skewing his heart as he stared at her beautiful face, twisted in concern for _him_. “No.”

She sighed in relief. “That is well, at least. I was afraid you had truly hurt yourself.” With her worst fears settled, she then turned her attention to the extra souls in the room. “Instead, it seems you have found a few friends?”

His voice was dry with humor. “They said they belong to you.”

The princess stared at him in incredulity for a tick before a fond smile twitched her lips. “They _told_ you they belong to me?” And then she gently swept aside more of his thick hair to narrow her eyes at the lazy mouse sleeping against his neck. “You sneak, did you learn to speak our language without telling me about it? This is most distressing.”

The small mouse squeaked at her for interrupting its comfortable, warm nap.

Lotor looked up at her, the sleep still heavy in his eyes. Oddly, his harvesting scars had dimmed, his cracked lips now smooth. “So they _are_ yours.”

“Yes,” she said, giggling as she began to disentangle Chulatt from Lotor’s hair. It seemed he had burrowed well. Lotor made a face when she accidentally pulled a few strands. “I’m terribly sorry. These little ones are always getting into trouble. They like to nest on warm things.”

“I did not mind them,” he murmured. 

Allura cupped the small mouse in her hand with great affection as she pulled it away, feeling a swell of warmth in her chest. She bit her lip. “They were in my cryostasis pod with me,” she admitted softly, “I feel connected to them, and they to me, as a result. Sometimes, it seems they quite read my mind.”

A tired smile stretched Lotor’s lips, and it made his emaciated, scarred face handsome once more, his flyaway strands of hair framing his face. “Were you searching for a warm nest like them?”

The princess smiled, and a bell-like laugh escaped her. “Perhaps I was.”

Princess Allura, for all of her power, was such a soft picture that Lotor’s smile widened, revealing his Galran fangs without reserve. 

Allura’s heartbeat skipped at the sight.

“I do hope,” the prince said with a tired merriment, “you found better sleeping arrangements than they.” He waved his thin hand to the bathroom floor.

She hummed as she patted the mouse’s warm body. “I don’t know—it feels like they siphoned quite a deal of heat from you.” And then she realized that her words were beginning to border on flirtation, and so she added, “Though they’ve been rude not to introduce themselves before stealing your heat. This is Chulatt, the baby.”

“It is a pleasure,” Lotor whimsically greeted the small mouse, his tired voice lifting up with the polite air of a gentleman.  

“And the big one you’re holding—that’s Platt. The pink one is Chuchule, and then there’s Plachu in your robe pocket.”

The prince looked down at himself to witness Platt’s little paws twitching in sleep. He murmured softly. “I am pleased that some Altean wildlife remains.”

“Oh, they are hardly wild,” Allura deadpanned, but a cheery tone bled into her voice. “Hunk feeds them table scraps, and they are positively spoiled by everyone else as well. Including even you, it seems.”

An amused huff escaped him, and he raised his eyes to her. “Sleeping on a bathroom floor is hardly a spoil.”

Allura swallowed hard suddenly. “About that. I do apologize that I was not here to help you when you needed someone.” She gently set Chulatt down on the floor. The mouse squeaked in displeasure at the loss of heat. “Here—” she began to shoo the mice off of him gently— “let’s get you back up and off this floor. If you want to bathe, then we’ll have to consider a different arrangement.” The mice whined at her but obeyed her will, scurrying away in a tired train.

“And what arrangement would that be, princess?”

Then she felt out her calloused, lithe hand to him.

He grabbed onto her, his long fingers locking against her own. She pulled him up with one arm alone in a flurry of silk.

But the sudden change in position made his feverish body woozy, and his breath hitched. He ended up stumbling forward, taking her with him. She squeaked as she felt her back hit the opposite wall. His disjointed hand planted hard against the tile beside her head in a wild attempt to avoid crushing her, and he winced at the sharp pain it caused him.  

Then it fell very silent, save for their shaky breaths.

There were scant inches between them now, with her hand splayed against his bare chest. His open robe swung between them in the silence.

The air between them felt thick. Like this, the small arc of her body made him feel monstrous in comparison to her. She was so tiny—his Galran hand a stark contrast beside her head. And yet, he felt a gravity toward her, as if she were a great cosmic force pulling him in closer. His fingers slid a bit on the wall as he struggled to keep himself at bay. “Apologies, princess,” he whispered, face tense.

Her voice was tight, her beautiful eyes wide. “It’s…alright.”  Then she quickly removed her hand from his chest, only to panic in realization that he had her quite pinned, and that there was no safe place to lower her hand to. “Oh dear. Um.” She giggled nervously and patted his chest, her fingertips catching the rough skin of his harvesting scars. It made her goose-bump, even as a deep blush stretched over her pretty face. Her heart was pounding hard. “Can you…move?”

The prince’s face tightened as he released her waist, suddenly aware that he must have grabbed for her when he tripped. His hand burned with the steel of her muscle and the feminine curve of her body beneath the soft material of her suit. He braced himself with his other hand and pushed away with a grimace.

“Thank you,” she breathed in relief, skittishly slipping away. She touched her hair in some instinctive attempt to distract herself, fearful that she was not presenting as a refined princess. Then her eyes widened. “Oh—I’m sorry—” And she reached back out to him to steady him. “Let me help you.”  

He was shakily leaning against the wall, vision still pixelated and head clouded. It was as if he were waiting for his blood to return from his legs, which prickled with sleep. He was glad that a fever already flushed his face for if not, the princess surely would have known the extent of his shame. “Forgive me.”  

The once-great heir to the Galra empire—not even able to stand on his own two feet before the descendant of his idols.  

She gently reached for his arm and swung it around her shoulder, face in a blush. “It is not your fault,” she said firmly. “I should’ve remembered how sick you are. I’m not entirely sure how you even made it to the bathroom in the first place.”

He made a petulant face, even as he leaned against her. He was not about to tell her how he had struggled. The remains of his pride would surely be shredded.

Her hand locked around his skeletal wrist to steady his arm around her, her fingers brushing against her own pink hair tie. It seemed small and thin against the hard outline of his Galran bones. “Either way, this supports my conclusion,” she said. She guided him back to his bed, easily taking on a good portion of his weight as if he were a mere sack of potatoes. “You are in no shape to bathe without supervision.”

His thoughts blanked, and he froze in place. “…What?”

She looked up at him, and like this, their faces were once again close. Her cheeks grew hot as a few strands of his hair brushed against her temple and the sensitive edge of her ear.

Lotor’s handsome face was tense, scandalized by her apparent neglect of every Altean social standard in existence.

And then it hit her. “Oh, I don’t mean to _watch_ you,” she stuttered. “I mean for someone to stand guard by the door, in case you need anything.” She laughed nervously. “And by someone, I mean a man. Not me. Of course.” She began to guide them forward again, biting her lip, her heart pounding.

She was sure he could hear it.  

“You worry too much, princess,” he cut in, his beautiful voice strained. “Truly, I have survived far worse than this—"

“—I will not have any of that,” she retorted. Her tone strengthened with a diplomatic command. “I found you passed out on the floor, and I thought you dead for a tick. With your sensory distortions and general instability, you’re likely to hurt yourself, and so you need someone to check in on you.” Then a lightbulb seemed to appear over her head. “And I know just who can help.”  

* * *

 

Soon enough, one Keith Kogane stood awkwardly in the entrance way of the infirmary. He called in, “You, uh, said you needed me?” 

Allura’s beautiful face lit up in a smile. “Keith. Yes, I did.” And then she turned back to Lotor, who was sitting on the side of his bed. “Lotor, this is Keith, the paladin of the black lion and another highly trusted friend.”

Instead of a tall, burly leader like Zarkon, Lotor found himself staring at a young man. This Keith was the same height as Allura and was slight of form, neither built like the paladin Shiro nor rotund like the paladin Hunk.

And then he caught the unique stripe across Keith’s cheek and his scent, which carried the tell-tale indicators of…

His yellow sclerae widened a fraction. “You are of mixed blood,” he murmured in surprise. “Human and Galra.”

“…Yeah, what about it?” Keith said, raising a brow.

It suddenly made sense now as to why team Voltron was swarming with humans. There was even greater interaction between the two races than Pidge had let on, which made Lotor suspect that his father’s empire had increased tremendously, if it were strong enough to travel to unknown galaxies.

A half-breed—the leader of Voltron.

Would surprises never cease?

The prince said, a glimmer of respect in his eye, “You must be of great courage and endurance to command the Black Lion in my father’s place. You should know the position makes you a prime target for my father, who covets its return.”

Keith’s lips thinned into a delicate frown.

Lotor tensed further in paranoia that he had just insulted the boy.

“…About that,” Keith said, sending a sideways glance to Allura. “I’m sure she’s talked about how we need any information you have. But there’s also some things we need to share with you.”

So. The paladin was all business—no frills, no royal decorum or diplomatic nuances. Lotor could respect that and found himself even more curious for it. “I agree,” he said, “that a knowledge exchange would be beneficial, if you are prepared to house me against the wrath of the empire.”

“We’re prepared.” Keith’s gray eyes turned back to him. The Galran stripe on his cheek seemed to glimmer, even in the dim light. “But we’ll be more prepared once you share your intel.”

“Keith,” the princess cut in. “Do you not agree that our guest deserves the dignity of a warm bath and a meal before we speak of such things?” She tilted her chin at Lotor. “He’s not yet even healed of his fever.” 

The boy sighed, almost in a suffering way. “I know, Allura. But—” He waved his hand – “we’re kinda running out of time here.”

The way he spoke to Princess Allura—he did not afford her a title!—made Lotor’s white brows knit. He looked between the two of them, carefully masking his suspicion. The two were either great friends or lovers, for him to directly address an Altean princess so casually, and for the princess to so readily accept such intimacy in speech with another male.

The thought made Lotor’s stomach churn in a strange way. Hope—that Princess Allura could find deep relationships with half-breeds. And then, oddly, envy of this half-breed who commanded the Black Lion and called the princess _Allura_. 

Allura crossed her arms. “At least,” she pleaded, “let us have this evening free. Hunk and Pidge should very much like to show him what a chick flick is. And I think it would be a great way for him to further rest and heal—and enjoy our hospitality.”  

Keith’s lips began to twitch then. “Seriously? A chick flick?”

Her face twisted in a half-hearted pain. “Yes, I’m serious. And I’ll have you know, you’re not allowed to choose a movie to watch again, after recommending that we watch _Titanic_.”

His face faulted. “Hey, that was a good movie. It had all the squishy stuff about love, but like, on a disaster-level scale.”

“Exactly,” the princess complained. “Heavens forbid we watch something where the main characters don’t die in a tragedy.” A fake tear appeared in her eye. “I’m still not over the death of Jack.”

“But that’s what makes a chick flick good,” Keith complained. “Otherwise, it’s just squish. It’s not meaningful. The _Titanic_ was real, you know?”

The princess rolled her eyes and made a playful noise like a suffering groan. “You’re impossible.” And then she walked forward. “But I digress from the reason I’ve brought you here.”

“Which is?”

Allura smiled brightly. “I need you to help our guest bathe.”

“Wait, what?”

“I think he can bathe himself,” Allura said—

“—I can,” Lotor cut in tightly, eyes tense—

“—But I would very much appreciate it if you would stand guard outside the door and check on him from time to time. He’s still prone to bouts of weakness, as I found him lying on the bathroom floor earlier.”

Lotor bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to avoid making a noise of protest. He forced himself to stiffen his posture to look stronger than he actually was.

Keith looked somewhat just as stricken, his eyes widening in the largest display of emotion yet. A sweat-drop seemed to appear at his temple. “Um—well, I mean. I…guess? I can help?”

The princess smiled brightly. “I knew I could count on you.” Then she patted the half-breed’s cheek. “Thank you, Keith.”

Another spark of envy made Lotor’s fingers twitch.

Keith deadpanned with a huff, “You’re not really giving me a choice.”

And then she moved away, waving her hand. “I’m sure you two will get along just fine. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen taste-testing Hunk’s desserts for dinner!”

Then, the princess was gone in a flounce of her bun, her steps a bit lighter in devious delight.

There was a beat of silence in the room after that, with Lotor staring at the paladin and waiting for him to speak. The boy seemed mildly burdened at the thought of helping him—and Lotor did not want to create an enemy out of the black paladin, who did not exude interest in small talk or pleasantries.

But whatever tension was in the boy suddenly bled out in a sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. “…Well,” he said hesitantly, “I guess let’s get this over with.”                                                       

Lotor remained sitting on the bed, tense. He intentionally schooled his voice to be even. “If you should desire leave me for more important work, Black Paladin,” he said, “I will tell the princess that you stayed. I can manage on my own.”

It was a test, in ways, to determine the personality of the black paladin.

The boy turned away and began walking toward the bathroom. “No,” Keith said finally. “If Allura thinks you need help, then you do.” He eyed Lotor with a dark curiosity as he walked.

The prince, he noticed, looked haggard and feverish. His open robe and the loose fit of his pants suggested he was still little more than a starved scarecrow—but his eyes were calculating. Keith could almost feel the intelligent weight of Lotor’s awareness, which was a vast improvement from the dying man he’d seen in the infirmary of the Galra command ship.

Lotor tilted his head. “I do not wish to inconvenience you.”

Keith opened the bathroom door. His voice was a muffled echo as he pushed aside the bath curtain. “You injuring yourself would be way more inconvenient than this.” Then there was a pause as he searched around for something, and he sighed. “Good news, you got soap in here. Bad news…you’re missing everything else.” He reappeared back into the main infirmary room, looking a bit tense still. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

The order was fairly casual, but there was an edge to it. Lotor felt an instinctive bristling rile up within him—the black paladin was establishing rank. But he knew he was lucky to be so well cared for under the Voltron alliance, and so he crushed that instinct it into a tone of gratefulness. “…Yes, Paladin Keith.”

And then the boy was gone, his footsteps like those of a ghost’s.

It was the first time any team member had not yet asked Lotor to rescind the honorary title. The prince carefully filed the information away, mulling over the implications of it.

* * *

 

Keith soon returned with a couple of small bottles, few towels and a washcloth in his arms. “Okay,” he sighed. “So, I don’t know where people hide stuff in this place, so I kinda…borrowed Lance’s shampoo and conditioner. Blame me if he says anything.”

In the interim, Lotor had unfolded the Olkari clothes to inspect them. The long overgarment was still hanging from his hands as he eyed the paladin cautiously. “Will he not find my use of his things an impertinence?”

Keith huffed. “Please. I found these in Allura’s room. Everyone steals his stuff.”  

At that, the prince tensed again, his white brows knitting. He set aside the garment. “You have access to the princess’s personal quarters?”

There was enough of a strain in Lotor’s voice that it made Keith look up at him curiously. “Yeah, why?”

The prince’s mouth seemed to drop open a fraction for a tick or two, his yellow sclerae hardening in surprise. Then he pressed his cracked lips together before saying, “I did not know you were bond mates with the princess.” His voice strained further as he shakily stood up from the bed, and then he stiffly bowed. His white hair slipped down his shoulders, hiding the twist on his face. “In which case, my apologies that I addressed you as a paladin only, and not by your higher title.” 

There was a beat of silence between them.

“…Oh, man,” Keith said, his gray eyes softening with amusement. He dared to chuckle, and the merry sound made him sound younger and more light-hearted. “It’s not like that. Seriously, you don’t have to bow or anything.”

Lotor paused, hesitantly raising himself back to his full height. He searched Keith’s eyes, attempting to determine if he were yet still some romantic interest of the princess. Perhaps he was a consort. The Black Paladin of Voltron would surely be a powerful enough position to catch the princess’s eye, even if Keith’s heritage were mixed.  

The prince stifled many inappropriate questions that stung of emotion.

Instead, he settled for something more underhanded, forcing his voice into an even tone. “It is rare to see one of mixed blood carry such a powerful title as you, or to be on intimate speaking terms with Altean royalty. I wish to honor your titles appropriately, whatever they may be.”

There was another odd pause.

Keith then said, voice slow, “…Intimate speaking terms with—?” And then it hit him, and his thin lips stretched. “You mean with _Allura_.”

“…Yes.”

The boy leaned against the wall, and the bottles in his arms clinked atop the folded towel. Of all the conversations he imagined having with Lotor, this was not one of him. His face was still stretched with amusement. “I guess I do have other titles, but they’re not related to Allura…if that’s what you’re asking.”

Lotor looked away then. He gathered his Olkari clothes from the bed, and reached out to the bedside table to steady his steps. His white hair straggled down his cheeks, hiding the tense line of his mouth. In a gingerly way, he forced himself to stand up. “…I appreciate the clarification, paladin.”

He could feel Keith’s eyes watching his every step, weighing, measuring.

The boy then turned away. “I’ll set this stuff down by the tub. You sure you’ll be okay?”

Lotor leaned against the wall now, running scarred fingers along the smooth wood as his crutch. He felt exhausted in that moment, his feverish eyes watching the boy as he disappeared into the bathroom. “Given that you are a half-breed like myself, surely you know I have endured worse than this. I will be fine.”

His response made Keith go silent, with only clings echoing from where he was setting down the bottles and towels. Lotor appeared to be assuming things about his upbringing, which was a tactical advantage. “…I figured you had it easy, being a prince,” he called as he stood up from beside the tub and re-entered the main infirmary room.

He came to the sight of the broken form of the prince still hobbling forward, a hand against the wall. Lotor was nearly swallowed up by the robe that hung from him, and he looked rather oddly like Haggar in that moment, his long white hair hanging down his shoulders from his bowed head. “No,” he said, voice rough. “Prince or pauper, it mattered not to the masses.” Another trudging step. The harvesting scars down his face twisted in a gaunt way as he looked up to Keith. “That is why I find your titles and friendships intriguing. Truly, I have never seen another hybrid survive successfully to adulthood.”

The confession hung between them with a heavy weight.

Keith crossed his arms, a disquiet flickering across his face. He suddenly thought of the Lotor they had left to die in the rift—and his mixed blood generals. “I grew up on Earth,” he said hesitantly. “And my parents were…pretty interested in keeping me alive.”

Lotor looked up at him, and the princely air of his face suddenly cracked hard. A deep, raw envy seeped from his eyes. He could see it now, that Keith was not the typical unwanted offspring between a domineering Galran warrior and some forced native slave. Keith stood too tall with confidence about who he was.

He knew he was loved by someone.

The prince’s voice strained. “You are a rarity among half-breeds, if even one parent desired that you live.”

* * *

 

On the far side of a Galra-occupied galaxy, a lone woman stood before a ship window, staring out at the great expanse of space. Her purple robes hung off her thin frame, the golden designs reflecting the harsh light of the ship. She’d been feeling cold lately, as if her host body were much too large for only herself.

Everything was so silent in her mind.

So silent…

She was now the perfect integration of physical form and power, the energy of Oriande coursing through her veins in a way that not even the quintessence of the colony Alteans could accomplish. She was more Honerva than ever before—the deepest she had ever integrated with another lifeform outside of the quintessence field.

But the Honervian impulse in the back of her mind, which had so briefly awoken in horror upon accessing Zarkon’s memories, had extinguished like a dying flame. It left the host body with a curious mix of emotions—that Honerva’s memories were her memories. Honerva was her true name. Lotor was truly her son.

And yet…

_“You,” Lotor declared in disgust, “are an abomination.”_

“Empress Pro Tem,” called out a deep voice.

She turned around, her golden eyes landing upon a Galra warrior she knew well. “Sendak,” she greeted. Even her voice was Honerva’s now.   

“I received your message, on the death of Emperor Lotor at the hands of Voltron.” He looked up, his cyborg eye glimmering with darkness. “A most shameful end, although not entirely unexpected.”

Her voice was smooth. “Yes. He was foolish and easily manipulated, even when he thought otherwise. Perhaps it is just as well that his reign has been cut short.”

_Her son stared at his own emaciated hands. “What have you done to me?”_

“You look…changed,” Sendak added in dark curiosity.

Honerva smiled, although it did not reach her eyes. Her fangs glimmered. “The wife of Zarkon is all that remains of the royal family. I must present myself as such to assist the empire through these…trying times.” She sat down upon the throne, where her husband and her son once sat. Her dark fingers ran along the armrest. “I recall that Zarkon mourned you were not his son instead of Lotor. Therefore, I will continue to support your bid for emperor at the upcoming Kral Zera. And I will redesign that arm of yours—it is unfitting for an emperor.”

Sendak’s face remained motionless, but his eye gleamed. “I accept your assistance.”

Her golden eyes narrowed. “But once I enhance your abilities, I have a…loose end that requires your attention.”  She leaned forward and said, “The Voltron Coalition, through the increasingly powerful Princess Allura of Altea, has created a puppet of Lotor. She intends to place him back on the throne before the empire realizes what has happened. He is even weaker than my true son and lacks several faculties—a perfect spy for their cause. You must end this abomination, before Lotor’s memory is further tarnished.”

The warrior tilted his head. “There is no conspiracy that could possibly tarnish the half-breed’s embarrassing reign further.”

There was a deep pause between them.

Honerva’s face hardened, and she tapped her finger against the armrest. Suddenly, Sendak’s mouth tightened shut. “…Be careful how you speak of my son,” she warned. A shadow darkened her eyes. “When you insult his race, you insult your Empress Pro Tem as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, words cannot describe how much I struggled with this chapter. I think I rewrote every scene three times? And I wrote several other scenes, only to delete them. ;A; The reviews from last chapter and the wonderful fanart helped me muddle through (thank you again!). Also, thanks to everyone who listened to me whine about writer's block on Tumblr, haha. Here’s to hoping that this chapter was still enjoyable, for what it’s worth. 
> 
> Note: Pro Tem means “for the time being,” in respect to Honerva’s temporary reign before another Kral Zera. 
> 
> Please let me know if you’d like to see more! (And if you have any ideas on the movie the paladins should show Lotor, haha.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following awesome people for reviewing last time: Greenwren (x7!), Gabriel, anything_past_or_present, IndiiBrownFlowerCrown, Arkanis, mutedtempest, Rebecca, Nagisa, Sachi, krinka, UltraFirelily, Pearbellini, WoaHorWHoa (x2!), EllieDoll, ahyeon, Amanda, Smallblaa, Anonymous, Kyndall, TiffanyBlue, Pinecones, Panda, Gyogyo (x2!), Dasha, CarlyChameleon, Sydney, Mep, Yang, dayriniandreamer, Angela, riennemarrive, KITANI, Nicole Ellis, sophiebystarlight, silkymarillion, KokoaKirkland, Mythicamagic, and windonwings! You are all super amazing, and I loved reading your in-depth analyses and thoughts. Also, thanks a bunch for the movie suggestions! 
> 
> You can read my reply to your individual review [here](https://lotura-archive.tumblr.com/post/177360744463/the-second-law-chapter-8-review-replies)!

_Haggar ran a finger down the babe’s soft cheek, staring straight into its half-lidded, exhausted eyes. “Child of our body,” she murmured to it, “you are too sick to be useful.”_

_Its small, lavender frame fit easily within her arms, its weight barely that of a parcel._

_Her claws traced the baby’s neck, lingering over its carotid artery. “I should end this experiment now, before more quintessence is wasted.” With a deep swipe, she could kill the child silently. In less than a dobosh, it would bleed out. Its sharp little fangs would never again cut her as she attempted to nurse it. Its presence and its harsh, high-pitched cries would never again interrupt her work._

_But the baby’s eyes—so very Galran despite their Altean color—stared up at her in dazed awe, its blue irises wide with an emotion she could not place. Its breaths were labored and uneven with its latest health complications, but yet its gaze never left her._

_She hesitated, feeling its great field of quintessence slip around her in trust. The spirit of Honerva—was that not her name?—flared hard and stayed her hand._

_Her fingers trembled._

_Her face cracked in frustration. “We must kill it,” she argued with herself. “The child is unstable.”_

_The spirit of Honerva had weakened within the body over the months and months since her rift exposure, quieted into a daze by ongoing doses of quintessence and whispers of safety and warmth. But today, she was actively attempting to regain control of the body._

_**No** , cried the fragmented spirit within her. Whenever she was awake, Honerva had a terrible drive. A few shreds of her quintessence locked together in desperation. **Safe and warm.** _

_“Shut up,” the woman whispered to herself, her yellow eyes hardening. “He is no longer a part of us. He is too weak to carry our vision. A parasite.”_

**_Do not kill him_ ** _, begged the wavering spirit. **Replenish—we can replenish—**_

_The woman exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. “—And he will simply take more. Even now, he requires nursing. I despise it.”_

_Honerva’s spirit was frantic. **Our experiments—they were for him. I cannot lose him now. I cannot.**_

_A blue lip curled in dissatisfaction, and her fangs glimmered darkly in the light. “You are a part of me now. You will submit to me, and we **will** kill this sickly child.” _

_Her claws began to sink against the baby’s lavender neck with the full intention of slitting its throat._

_And then her hand trembled once more. A great wave of emotion came over the woman’s body, and her lips dropped open in an odd, stilted gasp._

_“N-no,” she whispered. Her eyes dilated with pupils, and her voice roughened. “No.”_

_The baby in her arms began to fuss, its tiny face twisting in discomfort at the sharp claws pricking its skin._

_Honerva pulled the baby to her tightly, stroking its small mop of white hair in a fearful, obsessive fashion. “Safe and warm,” she whispered, voice shaking from out of her distorted body. The baby’s soft puffs of air and its Galran blood were a heat against her breast. Her blue fingers trembled. “Safe and warm.”_

* * *

 

While Lotor bathed, Keith stood outside the door as a dutiful guard—and as interference for Allura. His communicator crackled several times with her voice.

“ _Keith_ ,” she buzzed in for a second time, her voice polite and diplomatic but carrying an edge of apprehension. “ _Is everything going well?_ ”

“Everything’s fine, Allura,” Keith deadpanned.

“ _How do you know?_ ” she asked. “ _Have you checked in with him?_ ”

He pressed his lips together to save himself from saying something sarcastic, and then he knocked on the door. “Prince Lotor? Allura wants to know you’re not dead.”

There came from the other side of the door the sound of Lotor’s soft voice calling out, “I am not dead, princess.”

“There.” Keith turned away and stared down at his communicator. “Did you hear that?”

“ _Yes, I did. I feel much better, thank you._ ” And then she cut out suddenly, leaving them in peace.

For a time, it remained silent, save for the sound of moving water as Lotor bathed himself. But then the prince dared to speak to Keith, his voice lifting in a form of curiosity, “Is the princess always this worried about others?”

“…Yep,” Keith deadpanned, leaning against the door and crossing his arms. “She’s the mother hen of the group. Mixed with a drill sergeant.”

An amused sound echoed within the bathroom, and it sounded like the polite, princely version of a chuckle. “You do not seem pleased.”

Keith paused for a time. Was he really carrying a conversation with Lotor? That bordered on small-talk? “I mean,” he said slowly, “it can be annoying sometimes. But it’s nice too.”

There was another pause, as if Lotor were contemplating something. “Forgive my curiosity, but the princess has obvious rank and title over your heritage, and yet you command her within Voltron. How do such dynamics…work?”

“Being the black paladin’s not really about commanding people,” the boy said, face twisting with disquiet at Lotor’s suggestions. “It’s more about listening to everyone and making the best choice.”

The sound of dripping water echoed—Lotor was wringing out his hair. “There is a fine line in your words. At some point, you do make decisions to which the princess submits.”

Keith raised a brow at Lotor’s choice of words. “Why all the questions about me and Allura?”

“…I simply wish to understand the power hierarchy of my new allies,” he said eventually, his tone growing more distant in a diplomatic way—the same thing Allura did whenever she was covering her true thoughts.

Perhaps it was a royals thing.

“It’s not about the team or Allura submitting to me,” the boy eventually said. “I learned the hard way that a good leader submits to his team too.”

Within the bath, Lotor’s elfin ears perked in surprise. His voice strained. “My father, as well as standard Galran military protocol, would disagree with your perspective.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s why they suck.”

There was another beat of a pause. And then Lotor said, “…I am unfamiliar with your usage of that term. Can you clarify?”

Keith gave a huff, face faulting. “You know, like, they’re terrible? It’s a phrase people use?”

“…Ah, an Earth colloquialism.” There came something of a sigh. “And an accurate one at that.”

On the other side of the door, Keith dug his fingers uncomfortably into his jacket. He knew he was terrible at small talk or moving a conversation forward, but he could almost feel the sullen tension leeching off the prince. It made him itch to leave. Or, alternatively, to spill that Zarkon was dead, because that conversation desperately needed to happen. But Keith figured it might be better if Allura were present during such conversations.

And so it fell silent again between them, until…

“ _Keith?_ ” crackled in Allura’s hesitant voice. “ _Is everything still going well? You did remember to offer him something to wash his hair with, right? Because as you know, the Olkari do not have hair as we do, and so they do not include—_ ”

“—Yes, Allura,” he deadpanned. “He’s fine. He’s got Lance’s stuff.”

“ _Oh, he does? That’s perfect. Those are the best hair products in the galaxy, truly. Be sure to tell him that_.”

Then another voice crackled in over Allura’s communicator, as if he were standing right by Allura. “… _Hey, what do you mean, **he’s got Lance’s stuff**? Is that where my shampoo and conditioner went?_ ”

“ _Oh, Lance!_ ” Allura’s voice sharpened with surprise. She laughed nervously. “ _I didn’t see you there—_ ”

“— _Seriously, guys? They’ve been missing for days! Where did you find them in the first place? Keith, did you have them?_ ”

The paladin bit his lip for a second, and then a mischievous smile stretched his thin lips. “Uh, no. I took them from Allura.”

There was a pause. And then Lance’s voice raised with disbelief. “ _Allura?_ ”

She began to laugh even more nervously. “ _Oh, dear. I have to go, um_ —”

“— _How could you?_ ” cried Lance. “ _First, my face moisturizer, and now this? You know how expensive that stuff is! I have to **save** to pay for it._ ” 

The princess’s voice was a titter of panic. “ _Keith, I’ll check back in later._ ” And then as the line began to shut down, she said in a plea, “ _But everyone uses it, not just me!_ ”

The line cut off then.

And from within the bathroom, one amused Lotor called out, “Are your fellow paladins always so…candid with each other?”  

“…Yep.”

This time, Keith’s deadpan carried a hint of fondness.

* * *

 

After a short while, Lotor appeared from out the bathroom in a swell of steam and the scent of Lance’s incredibly expensive hair products. He stood tall in his Olkari white tunic and pants, his wet hair streaming down his front and back in a glimmer. He ran his fingers through the strands thoughtfully, and the tapered sleeve of his overtunic slipped upward, further revealing the sleeve of his orange undershirt.

“Paladin Keith,” he greeted politely with a nod to the boy.  

Keith’s eyes flickered to him in a bit of surprise. “Hey. You look…healthier?”

Lotor’s head tilted. Though his harvesting scars still stood out against his skin, they had lightened by several degrees, turning a shade of light purple, like a healing bruise. “Running water contains ambient energy from the planet. It can be restorative, to some extent.” He turned his wrist, a hint of a scar still peeking out from his sleeve. “Though not to the extent I would like. I fear it is mostly superficial.”

The paladin’s gaze grew a bit more cautious as he eyed him. “You can take energy from water?”

Lotor admitted, “Only if it is running or has run recently.” His fingers slipped from his hair. “Does that disconcert you, paladin? You seem displeased.”

“Uh, no. I’m just…” he trailed off, grasping for words that didn’t sound like an automatic insult.

The prince cut in, “Though I commend your caution, I assure you I have no designs to harm any on your team, even as I regain my strength.” His voice strained, and his princely air wavered in a calculated vulnerability. “Truly, I have never felt more welcome and would do nothing to ruin it.”

A silence stretched between them.

“Well,” Keith said. “That’s…good.” He then looked down at his communicator and awkwardly pressed the button. “Allura, you there?”

After a tick, she responded. “ _Yes, I am here. Is all well?_ ”

“Lotor’s done? So, uh, are you…coming back?”

There was a flurry in her voice. “ _Oh, so soon? I am sorry, Keith. In the fuss about his shampoo and condition, Lance threw a packet of food goo at me, and it spilled all over my suit. We had a bit of a tumble over it_.” There was the sound of clothes rustling. “ _I am in the middle of freshening up now_.”  

Lotor’s elfin ear flicked in surprise once more at the level of candidness the princess seemed to have with her teammates, and with Keith.

Keith asked, “You did get Lance back, right?”

“ _Absolutely. I tackled him into a hug, and now he is pouting because apparently I ruined his favorite shirt_.”

The paladin’s lips twitched. “…Nice.” He looked up at Lotor. “But if you’re not coming yet, then what should we do in the meantime?”

“ _Well_ ,” Allura’s voice was rushed and muffled. It seemed she was undressing right then. “ _Lotor’s not a prisoner, you know. If he’s up for it, how about—”_ There was the slurping peel of her jumpsuit shifting from her skin— _“you guide him to the lounge? I think it would be a delight to have Lotor eat dinner and watch a movie alongside the rest of the team, instead of being stuck in that stuffy infirmary_.”

“So now you want me to play tour-guide too?”

“ _Yes._ A _nd do be sure to have Lotor bring along his pot of Ipurim tea. To keep his symptoms at bay, he should drink one cup every varga. I’ll see you both soon._ ”

* * *

 

As it turned out, Keith wasn’t much of a tour guide. But Lotor didn’t seem to mind, instead choosing to ask questions on his own in hopes of prompting answers.

His interest carried a darker undertow.

“What unique architecture,” the prince murmured as he walked alongside Keith, holding his sealed pot of tea in his hands. His still-feverish eyes were bright and sharp, and his mind was a sponge in his new environment. Despite the toll of walking, his breathless voice maintained a great energy. He seemed to be fishing for something peculiar. “I had not heard of the Olkari civilization prior to my imprisonment. Tell me, Paladin Keith, how old is it?”  

“I have no idea,” he said. He was holding Lotor’s tea cup in one hand, and he pointed forward. “The lounge is just around this bend.”

“I would estimate at least several thousands of years, given their vast control of this planet’s…nanocellulose,” the prince continued, mostly talking to himself as he recalled Pidge’s explanation of the substance. The hallways were a smooth yellow, with intricate designs of wooden limbs swirled together. “I recognize these mathematical patterns. The designer twisted the tree limbs to mimic the golden ratio. How strange to find it even here, flung so far away into space as I am.”

Keith said dryly, “I don’t know what the golden ratio is, but they do like their math.” 

“As it would appear. Do they have a library here? An archivist?” Surely, Lotor thought, one of those things would have records.

Something to tell him how much time had passed.

The paladin sighed. “I know they do, but Pidge would know where to find them. You can ask her later.”

An edge of resignation slipped into his voice. “I will do that,” Lotor said breathlessly, filing the information away as the hall opened up into a great, wooded enclosing with wide bay windows.

The late-afternoon sunlight streamed in, striking his white clothes with a glow and lighting his cobalt eyes into the color of the sky. The prince stood at the entrance for a time, his emaciated chest quickly fluttering as his worn body caught up with his racing mind.

Keith turned around. “So this is the—” his voice began to trail off. “Hey, you okay? You’re…breathing kinda hard.” Guilt flickered across his face in thought that perhaps he should have helped the poor soul walk.  

Lotor inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the living wood and the drifting smell of something sweet in the air—Hunk’s cooking. He exhaled slowly, attempting to school his breath and his strained heartbeat. “I am fine,” he said, his voice still a bit uneven. An awe had overcome him, and he gripped the pot of tea in his hands a bit tighter, in disbelief that any of it was real. “Though I should like to sit down.”

Keith waved his hand at the couches. “Take your pick, man.”

The prince gave him a respectful, relieved nod and stiffly sat down beside the great bay windows. While he said nothing about the view, the way he leaned into the light suggested he found solace in it. His worn face lifted up to the sun as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

When he exhaled, his broad shoulders collapsed in. It made him appear more broken, less refined. He seemed smaller within the expanse of the large room, which held no further clues as to his location in time than any other place in the building.

“…May I ask a favor, Paladin Keith?” came Lotor’s soft voice. He did not turn around.

The boy had moved to the counter to set down Lotor’s tea cup, still eying the prince. “What is it?”

Lotor’s hands clenched tighter around the seal pot of Ipurim tea, as if preparing himself. “This world’s complexities,” he said, his beautiful voice straining, “and a warfront stretching as far as your previously unknown home planet suggest…I lost a great deal of time while imprisoned.”

A pause stretched between them.

“Could you indulge my curiosity?” Lotor asked, turning his face to stare at Keith. There was a deep tension in his face—an anxiety. “Do you know how long the witch had me?”

The paladin paused. He bit his lip, looking uncomfortable. He certainly knew the answer but did not necessarily want to face Lotor’s reaction over having lost nine-thousand years. “What, uh…how long do _you_ think it’s been?”

Lotor looked away, his eyes boring down to the teapot in his lap. His white hair fanned down his cheek, hiding his face. “…I fear to speak it aloud,” he confessed softly. “My father’s empire thrives in part because quintessence confers an unnatural lifespan to those who partake of it. Though I once believed I had lost only a century or two, I now suspect it is far, far more.” He swallowed hard.

Keith was desperately attempting to stall for more time now. He did not want to have this conversation without Allura in the room. “I, uh, I kinda figured you would’ve kept count. Since you like math and all.”

The prince scoffed. “I tried,” he said brokenly. “I scratched lines onto a table, but…” His harvesting scars pulled. “I could not always do so.”

It was the most he dared to say of his time as Haggar’s slave.

Lotor tried to change the subject, adding, “The inflation of the GAC on this planet is massive as well. I estimate that no less than seven-hundred to a thousand years have passed, to account for paying a tradesman 500 GAC per varga.” He searched Keith’s eyes. “I can see that you know _something_. That you could possibly verify this for me.” His voice broke. “Please.”

The paladin’s eyebrows flew up. “Uh,” Keith said, looking a bit caught. “Oh man. Look, I’m not really good at the whole, like, tact thing. And I don’t want you to freak out or something…”

“Your concern is appreciated. But I give you my word that you will see no violence from me.”

Keith’s voice strained. “Well, Pidge was, uh, able to verify the length of time using her tech. It’s a really long time, man. A really long time.”

Lotor did not seem to blink as he stared at Keith, his hands gripping the teapot tighter. “How long?” he demanded softly. “A thousand?”

“Like, uh…” Keith’s voice broke with an awkward uncertainty. “It’s definitely more.”   

The room fell deeply silent at that.

The prince turned his face away, haunted. And then words failed him entirely, his disquiet increasing. He set his teapot on the table beside the couch in fear that he would break it. His hands were trembling of their own volition. His breath hitched unevenly as he forgot to breathe for a time. “How much more?”

Keith’s eyes hardened as he watched the tension increase within Lotor’s pained expression. “Look. If you can sit there and talk about a thousand years, what difference is it gonna make to know the exact number?”

Lotor raised his voice unsteadily. “It must be a great number for you to withhold it so.” The harvesting scars upon his face seemed to pulse a deeper color as his tenuous grasp on stress loosened. It made his haggard face seem older. “A great number indeed.” He tried to suck in air, but this time he failed entirely.

Shock. He was going into shock.

“It is thousands,” Lotor whispered to himself in realization. “ _Thousands_ of years a slave, in that lab.”

And then his ears began to ring as his head pulsed.

There was a rustle of movement that Lotor barely heard from beneath the static. It was Keith. “Oh man,” came the frazzled voice of the boy. “Um—I’m not good at the whole…comfort thing. But I think you need to breathe?”

The prince’s body still trembled for air as he stared off in a daze.

“Prince Lotor, can you hear me?”

_Thousands of years a slave…_

“It’s gonna be okay, man. Just look at me.” There was a snapping sound at his ear. “Can you hear this? Can you look at me?”

Lotor felt suddenly as if he were sitting down in the witch’s lab, his chained wrists and ankles heavy from exhaustion—

The next thing he knew, Keith’s strong hands were on his shoulders, steadying him from collapsing forward. In the blur of that tick, Lotor grasped desperately for the boy’s arm. His fingers locked tight onto Keith as he tried once more to breathe.

Keith was his only tether to reality in that moment.

Altean princesses…half-Galran paladins…squalia berry pancakes—it all seemed too good to be true. Perhaps it wasn’t real. Perhaps nothing was real, except that this was all some elaborate vision of the witch.

_Thousands of years a slave…_

“Um. Okay,” came Keith’s awkward voice. “Maybe Allura was right that you weren’t ready. I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.”

Lotor’s eyes squeezed shut as he tightened his grip on the boy’s forearm, his fingers shaking hard. “This is not real,” he rasped. “It is not real—”

Suddenly, another voice distantly echoed in the room. It was a deep, male voice, and merry. The paladin Hunk. “—Hey, guys! I just came to—oh.” His voice fell away shock and concern. “Is, uh, is Lotor okay?”

Keith’s voice strained in awkward panic. “ _Help me_.”  

“Is he panicking? Is this a real panic attack right now?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Oh man, where’s Shiro? He’s really good at this stuff.”

“He’s still asleep.” Keith’s voice raised. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

There was another rustle of movement. A heavy weight sat down on the couch beside Lotor—carrying with it the scent of sweet and warm things. Then, a large hand came to rest upon his back.  

“Come on, buddy.” Hunk patted him gently. “Just take a deep breath, nice and slow.”

Lotor managed to halfway inhale, and it made a terrible, rasping sound in his throat, as if he were suffocating. On some level, he knew there were two people with hands not turned against him. Surely, it had to be real somehow. He desperately wanted them to be real.

His eyes burned as he stared outward in a half-lidded haze. The water in his tears began to slip down his sharp cheeks.

Hunk whispered to Keith, “Man, what did you do to him?”

Keith’s voice broke in a frazzle. “I didn’t do anything! He was asking about how long he’d been imprisoned, and—”

“—You told him?”

“He just guessed it,” Keith snapped.   

“How the cheese did he _just guess_ nine-thousand years?”

Lotor’s entire body tensed, and he cried, his beautiful voice tearing hard, “ _Nine_ - _thousand_ years—?”

Keith groaned in a whine. “Dammit, Hunk. I didn’t tell him the number.”

“…Oh.” Hunk made a noise. “ _Oh_ , that’s so awkward. Because now that means _I_ told him.”

“Uh, yeah. You did, Hunk. Thanks.”

The yellow paladin gave a nervous laugh. And then he went back to patting Lotor’s tense, bowed back in guilt. “Hey, uh, it’s not so bad? I mean, it could’ve been way worse, right? Nine-thousand years is nothing when you’re, like, immortal.”

Lotor had stopped responding then, his thin lips dropped open in shell-shock as tears slipped from his eyes. His clawed hand limply slipped from Keith’s arm and he bowed forward more in defeat, the top of his head leaning against Keith’s side as he rasped for air.

“Hunk?” the black paladin whispered, frazzled. “I think we broke him. I don’t know how to fix this. Allura’s gonna flip.”

Hunk gently tried to speak to Lotor. “Hey, the future’s a good thing, okay? We’ve got like, chocolate chip cookies. And movies. And _we’re_ here now? Like, this is actually a really good time to be alive?”  

Lotor did not respond beside an unsteady inhale of air and a rasp of, “Nine-thousand—”   

At that time, another voice echoed across the room. It was Pidge, returning from her work on the Galran ship. “Hey guys, when is dinner gonna be—” And then she paused, her eyes going wide. “Uh…whoa, what’s going on?”

Hunk and Keith turned to her, both looking a little frenzied. “Panic attack,” they said.

Without preamble, Pidge moved forward, her brown eyes narrowing in concern. “What? But he was fine earlier.”

Hunk cut in, “Yeah, but that was before he realized how many birthdays he’s missed. Which, not gonna lie, is a totally valid reason to panic? That’s a lot of missed cake.” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “But, uh…yeah. I don’t think I’m helping, and Keith’s hit his emotional bonding quota for, like, the next year.”

Keith begged her, looking more frazzled than she’d ever seen him. “Can you get him off of me?”

Pidge hesitated for a couple of ticks. Then her eyes hardened in determination as she walked up, intertwining her fingers and stretching out her arms. Her knuckles cracked. “Don’t worry, guys,” she said. “I know how to fix this from Shiro freaking out one time.” She gently shoved Keith out of the way. “Move.”

And then she swooped in and wrapped her strong, tiny arms around Lotor.  

The prince’s breath puffed unsteadily against the crook of her neck.

“You’re okay,” she murmured, voice firm.

His long arms shakily came to embrace her in return, his large hands nearly dwarfing her back. “Pidge,” he rasped in recognition, seeming to snap out of his daze. She was so small—but so very real, her bones light as a bird’s compared to his own. A little radiator against the cold of Haggar’s lab. “ _Pidge_.”

“Yep, that’s me.” She awkwardly patted his back, her fingers catching the partially dry strands of his hair, which were silky. He was otherwise harsh with bones beneath his clothes. The dissonance made her face twist in an odd way. “So listen. Panic sucks. Right? But I want you to focus on something else.”  

The prince leaned his sharp cheek against her temple, and her soft shirt soaked up a few of his tears. The name _Shiro_ had triggered a memory within him—a way to claw out of the suffocating blanket in his mind, to regain control. Pidge further forced him to recall it. “Table,” he whispered, his cobalt eyes reopening in a dull way. His voice shook. “Window. Floor.”

Hunk leaned in, looking a bit spooked. “What’s he doing?” he whispered.

Pidge’s brown eyes slid to him. “Brain reset,” she hissed quietly. “Shiro does this.”

“—Chair.” Lotor’s voice softened into a hardly a breath. “Teapot.”

“Oh,” Hunk said, narrowing his eyes curiously. “I’ve heard of this technique. I mean, I usually think of food instead of just things around me, but you know, whatever works.”

Keith huffed and crossed his arms, looking entirely uncomfortable and guilty. “I didn’t know he was this bad. Mentally, anyway.”

“Rug,” Lotor’s voice broke again. He leaned more heavily against her, limbless in agony and exhaustion. “Fireplace.”

Pidge began to grimace, her slight form beginning to crumple a bit under Lotor’s weight. “Okay, wow, you’re actually heavy. Uh, guys? A little help here?”

Hunk gently reached for Lotor’s arm. “Hey, man, let’s not crush Pidge, okay?”

The prince blinked several times as he felt his body move backward, Hunk’s large hands guiding to lean against the back of the couch. “Paladins,” he breathed suddenly. “Yellow.” His voice was rough, even as his skeletal hands trembled from his rush of adrenaline. His tear-streaked face raised up as he leaned back, his eyes wide to heaven. “Tree limbs. Ceiling. Golden—ratio.”

Pidge pushed up her glasses, backing away in concern. Something in her was haunted. This was neither the smooth, calculating Lotor she’d known in the past nor the soft and playful one she had come to know. This was a broken man, struggling against demons no one else could see. She bit her lip, then dared to ask in hopes of refocusing him, “Golden ratio. What is it?”

His bloodshot eyes flickered to her as he tiredly turned his head back to focus upon her. There it was—a spark of his old self, glimmering out from the panic. “One-point-six-one-eight,” he responded, his white brows knitting together. “Zero-three-three-nine-nine.”  

She asked, leaning forward to search his eyes, “And what do we know from the golden ratio?”

His tired voice shook. “A design in all things.” He blinked once, then twice. “A design in all things.” And then some thought struck him. He planted his skeletal hand at his side and forced himself to sit straighter with a wince, his hair fanning down his shoulder. His bloodshot eyes focused on her suddenly in sharp, calculating incredulity. This was more of the Lotor she knew, struggling out of his fragmented mind. “You forget—entropy. All designs waste into chaos. Nothing.”

“Yeah,” Pidge shrugged. “Based on the energy flows of an _isolated_ system. But that’s not what you are. At least, not anymore.”

The prince’s emaciated face froze upon her, his intelligent eyes searching hers for meaning as the vestiges of his panic attack began to fade. The implications of her words were deep for one as young as she was, and heavy for as carelessly as she offered them. She spoke as if she were casually referencing the weather.  

 _You are not an isolated system,_ she was saying _._

Her stark, matter-of-fact tone blasted back the dark blanket in his mind, fraying the images he recalled of the witch’s lab. He was having difficulty remembering the loneliness suddenly, because he was surrounded by voices—by the tangible fields of living beings who dared to share their voices with him. Their spaces. Their warmth.

Hunk scratched his chin. “Hm. I mean, according to the second law of thermodynamics, you could make an argument that the whole of the universe is technically an isolated system, despite the ongoing energy exchanges from one celestial body like a sun to an—”

 “—You’re missing the point, Hunk,” the human girl said dryly. “And in plus, access to alternate realities would suggest energy slippages that redefine the parameters of our universe as an isolated system.”

“In the form of gravitational pulls, yeah,” the yellow paladin said. “Unless you’re talking about the properties of quintessence, but we’re still missing serious data about how it interacts between dimensions.”

Lotor stared at Pidge, then Hunk in a marvel, and he desperately clung to the visions before him as a distraction. These two children offered, of all things, scientific debate as a means of resetting him in the present. His voice was a distorted rasp at first as he spoke—but it began to strengthen. “Hunk,” he said, “is right to question.”

Their tense, curious faces snapped to him. Keith watched over them all, eyeing him with the tensest suspicion. The black paladin, it seemed, was ready to respond if Lotor could not control himself.

The prince swallowed back emotions, blinking several times to center himself in the conversation. “It replenishes,” he said. The torn edge of his voice smoothed a fraction, like ruffled feathers settling back into a smooth line. “But too much depletion in one universe would—” he winced, his wrist shooting with sharp pain from leaning on it too long, and he leaned back fully against the couch, closing his worn eyes— “result in entropy as well.”

He felt a bit feverish again in his exhaustion.

Pidge pushed up her glasses, a new concern lighting her face. “Wait, what you do mean, entropy remains? I thought quintessence was completely sustainable—an unlimited resource.”

Lotor did not reopen his eyes, tiredly lifting up his hand to brush his cheek. He felt tears soak into his fingers—a most shameful disgrace to his body. But what did it matter before these strange paladins? Their instinctive reaction—even Keith’s—was to offer comfort.

His voice trembled with the energy it took to speak, “The dead do not replenish themselves and—” his hand limply fell to his side—“cannot accept quintessence on their own power. This is how universes function as well. Without living vessels, quintessence undergoes decoherence.” His voice roughened. “Entropy.”

Hunk opened his mouth to ask a question, his face pensive. “But how—?”

Keith interrupted, looking overwhelmed. “—Okay. Guys, you can talk magic later.”

“This is _science_ ,” Pidge disagreed with a whine.

Keith waved at Lotor and deadpanned, “Either way, you need to let him rest. Allura’s gonna be here and—"

“—No.” Lotor had managed to reopen his red-rimmed eyes in a bleary fashion, his emaciated face more haggard than before. The walk from the infirmary, as well as his panic attack, had taken a toll on his energy reserves. “I need—the distraction,” he managed to say. He forced himself to sit up a bit straighter with a grimace. He felt distant and raw, like a rope pulled too tight, fragmenting under the tension. “I am ten-thousand years old. I fear I shall go mad if I think on it.”

It left the paladins silent for a beat or two before Pidge crossed her arms and said thoughtfully, “Well…I could put on a movie and code in here for a while?”

Hunk snapped his fingers. “ _Yes_.” His voice raised with delight, and he smiled in such a way that he appeared as the sun. “Yes, absolutely. Movies. I mean, I was gonna kinda wait until dinner was actually ready, and we had everyone here, but—you know, desperate times. And oh man, there’s so many to choose from.” He tapped his chin, mind racing as he stood up. “I hadn’t thought this far yet. Pidge? What do you think?”

The human girl bit her lip as she pushed on her glasses. “I’m still gunning for _Pacific Rim_ over here, so…”

Keith began to walk away. “I’m with Pidge. How about something other than a romance?” he complained lightly. “Like _Jurassic Park_ or _The Matrix_?”

“Ngh.” Hunk looked pained. “Those are stressful movies. The whole goal of this is to sit back and just _enjoy_ it, guys. You know, to have a visual feast? Feel warm fuzzies and experience the beauty of things back on Earth?”

Keith sat on the counter, grabbing one of the bread puff snacks from earlier and pulling a shred off. “ _Jurassic Park_ is a visual feast,” he argued, voice muffled from a half-full mouth. “The CGI’s still good. And I feel warm fuzzies every time the lawyer gets it.”

“…He’s got a point,” Pidge piped up distractedly, tapping on her wrist watch, scrolling through a list of movie options from her synchronized database.  

“Guys,” Hunk moaned. “Point taken on the lawyer, but seriously—that’s not the right kind of warm fuzzies. Also, that’s a spoiler. What is _wrong_ with you people.”

A note of humor worked its way into Keith’s deadpan. “Everything.”

“Yeah, apparently.” The yellow paladin turned to Pidge. “Give me something else.”  

She hummed. “My brother and I used to watch _The Princess Bride_ all the time?”

“Oh, that’s a classic chick flick, but I think we should save it for later.” His voice lowered into a whisper. “ _Triggers_. The machine-thing, remember?” Hunk snapped his fingers a few times and raised his voice back to its normal volume. “We need something not related to dying. Come on, people, I know we can do this.”

The banter between the paladins was a welcome enough distraction for Lotor, who took hesitant delight in memorizing each movie title they called out. It seemed these humans rather liked their recorded performances and felt great emotions about them. Such a light-hearted atmosphere encouraged him to stretch out on the couch, his bony sides sinking into the soft cushions. He tiredly swept his hair away from his face as he bent his other arm into a pillow for his head. There were still a few tear tracks upon his face. “Please do know,” he cut in with exhausted amusement, “I care not what the movie is. I…trust your expertise on the matter.”  

From the counter, Keith called, “Hey, you can’t lay down yet. You still need to drink your tea, remember?”

The prince dared to lightly groan as he closed his eyes. “Ngh. I do not wish to drink it.” A petulant tone colored his voice. It seemed his exhaustion, and the general easy banter around him, had loosened the polite filter on his tongue. “Do not make me.”

“Shiro, Coran, and I worked hard to find that for you.” Keith’s voice sharpened in partial amusement and incredulity. “And Allura’s gonna walk in here soon and ask if you’ve been keeping up with it.”

Lotor’s white brows knitted together. His voice was still tired. “We can distract her,” he offered. “She does not have to know.”

Pidge looked up from scrolling through her interface. “Oh, she’ll know,” she deadpanned. “And then you’ll get a stern lecture about ‘not taking care of yourself.’ I’m speaking from experience.”

The prince did not open his eyes but managed another groan. He had so far avoided the full taste of the stuff with his sensory distortions, but now he had all of his senses. He did not want to drink the tea in such an aware state.

His skeletal hand sunk into the cushion as he blearily pushed himself back up. “Ngh.” He delicately lifted his aristocratic nose, turning his head in the direction of the counter, where Keith sat still munching on a bread puff. “Then if I must—something to mask the taste?” His cobalt gaze widened to innocent, pathetic doe eyes.

Keith looked down at the last bread puff, and his lips pulled into a tight line. He’d been thinking to nab it for himself.

And then he sighed in defeat and grabbed the puff, lightly tossing it Lotor’s way. It arced in the air like a comet.

The prince, despite his bone-deep of exhaustion, caught it with a snap of well-trained precision, his movement an unnatural blur as he raised his hand. His skeletal, scarred fingers sunk into the puff of the bread in triumph.  

“Your reflexes are good,” Keith noted, almost in suspicion.

Lotor hummed in thought, and then wry amusement worked its way into his exhausted voice. “…Not bad for ten-thousand years old.”

* * *

 

Back in her room, one Princess Allura stood in her underclothes, her beautiful face in a twist of panic. She swept through her closet of mostly empty racks. “You must be joking,” she whispered to herself, voice tight.

All of her clothes were dirty—save for her Earth pajamas and her last royal dress from Altea. “This will not do,” she cried to herself, pulling away. She tapped her bare foot as her mind raced. “Oh, neither of these are ideal for tonight.” She did not want this version of Lotor to think her a slob—or a snob.

The princess looked at her bedside table for a tick or two. And then she moved forward, grabbing her communicator from it. “Lance?” she called into it desperately. “Lance, are you there?”

Soon, he answered, a bit rushed, as if he were still dressing himself. “ _Yeah, ’sup?_ ”

Allura’s voice strained with panic and frustration as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I…I need you to be my voice of reason.”

There was a brief pause. “ _What’s wrong?_ ” he asked, this time more softly. “ _Are you okay?_ ”

“I am fine, but…tonight, Lotor will be joining us all for dinner and Hunk’s movie. And most of my clothes are dirty.” She stared up at the ceiling, as if in pained prayer. “Do I wear the Mickey Mouse shirt your sister Veronica gave me, with the leggings? Or do I wear my formal dress from Altea?”

There was another pause again. “ _Wait, you’re asking **me** on what you should wear?_”

Her voice was strained. “Well, you know how we talked so long ago about me being emotionally compromised regarding Lotor.” She turned her head, biting her full lip. “The fact is, I’ve stood here for six doboshes debating on such a simple, silly thing, and I—” Her voice quieted. “—I’m…concerned that I’m…”

She couldn’t say it.

She tried again. “What I mean to say is, you’re not so emotionally compromised. And you know…me.” Her face flushed in embarrassment. “Please, Lance. I fear what the implications will be of either decision.”

Allura could hear the sigh of his breath over the communicator. “ _This isn’t actually about the clothes, is it._ ”

She leaned her bare back against the nearby wall. “…I’m afraid not,” she whispered. Her lithe fingers gripped the communicator like a lifeline. “And you’re—you know, _you_ , so…you’ve broken a lot of hearts and know how to be emotionally distant about silly things like what to wear.”

For a time, it remained silent over the communicator.

Allura swallowed hard, and she quickly added, “Or perhaps this was a bad idea. I’m sorry if I’ve placed you in an uncomfortable position.” She’d somewhat forgotten that the mice had revealed Lance’s crush on her, all those months ago.

His pleasant, boyish voice crackled back in. “ _No_ ,” he said suddenly, softly. “ _No, I mean, It’s just...kind of adorable_.”

Her flushed face grew a bit redder, the blush stretching to the tips of her elfin ears. “Is it? I feel as though I am quite stupid. I hardly know him, and he hardly knows me, but…I should not feel this way. I know it’s not _him_.”

She could almost hear the stretch of his lips. “… _Yeah, but it **is** him, too. Don’t beat yourself up_.”

The princess bit her lip, and she fell silent for a tick or two. “How can I not beat myself up? We have many dangerous issues at hand here. And here I am, compromising us again by being so near-sighted.” she swallowed hard.

“ _Look. You said it yourself that we need to make emotional ties with this guy_.” Lance’s voice softened, but it was playful to hide some kind of odd pain. “ _Right? Because it’ll make him more willing to share his information with us. That’s like, the whole goal, right?_ ”

“Right.”

“ _Okay. So…maybe it’s not such a bad thing right now. That you like him, I mean_.” Lance’s voice turned in a way to suggest he was smiling, but sadly. “ _Because it’s genuine. He’ll pick up on you being friendly, and it’ll make him more willing to be on our side. And then you’ve got us to make sure you don’t go too crazy with it. You know we’ve got your back.”_

Allura’s eyebrows knitted. “How do you know I won’t just scare him away, or—or make him suspicious?” she whispered. “He’s already mentioned before that I’m terribly familiar with him.” 

“ _Allura? Talking as a man here—you’re not gonna scare him away, no matter what you wear or do. Just…trust me_.”

She chewed on her lip, still looking a bit stressed. 

“ _And for the record_ ,” Lance said hesitantly, “ _I think you should go with your Altean dress_.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“ _Because this guy needs to remember that you’re a queen and not a nurs_ e.”

“I’m…technically a princess, Lance.”

“ _No, you’re a queen. And if you want this guy chasing your tail, you gotta make him remember it too._ ” Lance’s voice strained with a sad frustration. “ _Because he doesn’t deserve, like, half the attention you give him. And he needs to know that._ ”

Her breath gave way to a sigh as she reached out to touch the material of her dress. It flowed like water around her lithe fingertips. “You’re harsh on him,” she said softly.

“ _Allura_.” The boy’s voice grew halted. “ _I’m just. I don’t wanna see you get hurt, cause I care about you_.”

“I know you do,” she whispered.

“ _Even when you do steal my stuff_.” 

Her full lips suddenly stretched. “And I care about you too, Lance. Even when you do shoot me with food goo.” She grabbed the dress off the rack, a bit merrier in spirit, knowing that no matter what, she was blessed with friends.

“ _Yeah, I know_ ,” he said. His voice shed its seriousness and turned into something more akin to his usual air-headedness. “ _I’m irresistible_.” 

“I’ll be sure to warn Lotor about that.”

She could almost feel Lance’s face-fault, and it made her giggle.

* * *

 

At that time, Lotor was holding Pidge’s prized watch, curiously scrolling through the holographic interface full of movie covers. The metal of the device was still warm with her human heat, the object dwarfed by the size of his palm. With his free hand, he swiped to the right on the interface, the colors reflecting shadows against the harsh, emaciated dips of his skeletal hand.

A mostly empty cup of cold Ipurim tea remained on the table beside the couch, alongside the papery cup that had once held the last bread puff.

His cobalt eyes, no longer red-rimmed with tears but bright with distraction and a lessening fever, narrowed in curiosity at the holograph. “What is this one?” he murmured, voice soft but more of its usual, velvet lilt. The tea he’d managed to drink had calmed his nerves and settled strength back into his bones, just as it had before. It allowed him to focus on more important things, such as the brilliantly colored movie advertisements on Pidge’s interface. The movie cover before him had a rather interesting ship displayed beneath the faces of two young humans, and he found it curious, even if he could not understand the large, bold text of the title.

On either side of him, Hunk and Pidge leaned in closer. “Oh,” Hunk said. He sucked air in through his teeth in fear. “Dude. That’s _Titanic_. Trust me, you do not want to watch _Titanic_. It’ s super sad.”

The name sounded oddly familiar to him, and Lotor’s white brows puzzled for a tick before he asked hesitantly, “Is this the one where the human named Jack dies?”

“…Yeah? How did you—?”

He swiped the interface again, biting his lip. “—The princess does not like this one,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “It will not do.” Next on the screen was a bright image of humans in sparkling dresses and dark suits, appearing to dance.

Keith was leaning on the back of the couch, leaning his cheek in his hand as he watched the screen flicker over Lotor’s shoulder. “Oh, no,” he said blearily. “Not _Singing in the Rain_.”

Hunk turned around and gave him a glare. “Hey, it’s a critically acclaimed romantic musical that has one of the most iconic scenes in movie history, thank you very much.”

“They tap-dance,” Keith deadpanned. “And it’s so…happy. And weird.”

Pidge adjusted her glasses some and added to Lotor, “It also functions as historical fiction about the technological transition in the 1920s, from purely silent video recording to movies with synchronized talking.”

Lotor’s elfin ear perked in interest. “I shall remember this one,” he said. And then he swiped right again.

Keith’s voice behind him raised. “Hey, _that’s_ a good movie.”

Hunk cut in. “…You’re kidding me, right?” Then he leaned forward to eye Pidge with a raised brow. “I thought you said this was the chick flick category?”

The human girl gave him a bewildered look. “I set the filter to an algorithm based on the category of romance—there’s a lot of crossover, you know.”  

Lotor beheld the movie image, tilting his head in great curiosity. It was of a man riding some kind of animal, wearing primitive armor and racing toward another man of the same. They both held long poles aimed at the other. “What is this?”

“ _A Knight’s Tale_ ,” Keith said with a little rise of excitement in his voice. “And it actually has a plot.”

Pidge rolled her eyes and said, “Its soundtrack is completely anachronistic to the time period, like it can’t even take itself seriously. I mean, come on. Playing _We Will Rock You_ in the medieval ages? Please.”

“What are they doing?” Lotor asked, still peering curiously at the image and at the strangely simple armor. "Are they at war?”

“Not exactly.” Pidge’s voice was dry. “It’s called jousting—what the, uh, warriors of the king would do for entertainment. It’s a sport where you have to knock the other one off their horse. The movie’s supposed to be set in the 1300s.”  

The prince hummed at that, his cobalt eyes more animated. “I shall remember this. I do like history and competitions.”

And then he swiped right again. Oddly, the dress of the humans in this one was similar to the one before it, suggesting it was set in a medieval time period as well.

“At least there’s a sword fight in this one,” Keith piped up.

Hunk tapped his chin, humming in suspicion. “ _Ever After_ ’s a good one, but the first scene—with her dad dying?”  

“Allura will totally cry,” Pidge affirmed. “She can’t take it when the dad dies in anything.”  

That was enough to inspire Lotor to move forward. He swiped right again.

“ _Oh_ ,” said Hunk, leaning against Lotor’s shoulder in great excitement. “Oh, yes. Yes. This is it. This is perfect.”

“Oh, no,” Keith moaned from behind. “ _No_.”

The image on the screen was of a human man and woman, wearing long and flowing clothes that oddly reminded Lotor of merchant-class Altean clothing. The Earth script of the title was looped and slanted. It appeared the humans were leaning to kiss each other before a red sunset.

“Yes,” Hunk said again, eyes lighting up like the sun. “Oh man. Oh, guys. This is like, the _ultimate_ chick flick. Great cinematography too.”

Lotor turned to Hunk, curious enough. “What is its title?”

“ _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” Hunk declared. A tear appeared in his eye. “It’s about a rich aristocrat and a middle-class woman falling in love. It’s rich. It’s refined. It’s perfect. Kiera Knightly nails the role.”

That made the prince’s expression grow puzzled. “And what time period is this one supposed to be? Their state of dress is…familiar.” Like finding the golden ratio on Olkarion—he was seeing something similar to Altean clothing on Earth.

How odd.

“Early 1800s,” Pidge said. “So it’s between _A Knight’s Tale_ and _Singing in the Rain_ , but closer to the latter.”

“I can’t believe,” Keith deadpanned, “that you’re teaching him human history using _movies_.”

Hunk raised a finger. “…It’s the best way to do it, honestly.”

Lotor sat back a bit, eying the movie cover with a critical expression. “Would this one make the princess cry, like _Titanic_?”

“No way,” Hunk replied, still giddy. “She’s been wanting to watch this forever, but _Keef_ over here keeps complaining about it.”  

The black paladin sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Then this one,” Lotor decided, his voice taking on a final tone. “We shall watch _Pride and Prejudice_ first, in respect to Hunk’s desire for a…chick flick, and in respect to the princess’s wishes.” He paused. “If Paladin Keith is agreeable.”

Keith made a pained noise. “I mean, I’m not the movie keeper or anything.”

Pidge reached forward and pushed a button on the watch in Lotor’s hand. The holographic interface shut down with a flicker. “Great—then it’s settled.”

Lotor turned to her curiously. “Do you like _Pride and Prejudice_ , Pidge?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Never seen it, so I guess we’ll find—”

And then a smooth, familiar female voice echoed out from an adjoining hall, raised with excitement. “—Did I hear the words _Pride and Prejudice_? Is that the movie for tonight?”

Lotor’s cobalt eyes snapped to one Princess Allura of Altea as she entered the room. And then his yellow sclerae widened, his mind completely blanking at the sight of her, his thin lips dropping open a fraction.

She had changed out of her practical space jumpsuit and had instead donned a dress fit for her royal title, her hair freely tumbling down her back. It made her seem like an unnaturally beautiful hallucination. Lotor immediately desired to reach out and touch a strand of her soft, curly hair that glowed in the sunlight—or the material of her dress, which flowed as living water around her feminine curves.

Anything to confirm she was in fact real.

He stood up suddenly, his surprise quickly masking itself behind a polite expression. “Princess,” he breathed. His beautiful voice carried an edge of a strain within it as he respectfully bowed low, his white hair slipping off his shoulders. He bowed as a peasant would to royalty, and after an appropriate tick or two, returned to his full height. “Yes, the paladins and I have ascertained that we should watch the movie called _Pride and Prejudice_.”

As dressed as she was, it reminded him that she was a true princess—whereas he was no longer a true prince. Even now, despite the respectable clothes he wore, he could feel a great chasm between himself and the opulence she exuded.

For her part, Allura’s fingers tightened into the material of her skirt, her palms growing a bit sweaty as she stared up at Lotor’s aristocratic features, feeling once more just how tall he was. _Oh dear_ , she thought. Despite his harvesting scars and his emaciated appearance, his broad shoulders and tall body fit the Olkari tunic well, and wrapped in white, he seemed ethereal.

It frightened her that this version of Lotor could so quickly increase her pulse—and she did not want to dwell on what it meant.

But she found his bow outrageously formal for whatever they were. _By the stars_ , she’d allowed him into her memories, and she had practically undressed him when she’d helped him into his second robe—thankfully, his pants had hidden—

 _Oh, do not go down that path_ , she thought tightly to herself, feeling her face begin to burn and wrenching a tight grip on her emotions. _Do not do it_. _Say something safe and cordial._

“Lotor, you’re looking much better,” she offered politely. “And feeling better, I hope.”

The prince noted her kind but distant diplomatic tone. He had guessed correctly then, that things would be different between them now that he was on the mend. A dart of disappointment shot through him. “Yes,” he said eventually. “I am honored by your interest in my health, princess.” He did not dare to mention anything about yet another panic attack, and he hoped sincerely that no one brought it up.

The paladins watched the exchange curiously, remaining blessedly silent. 

Allura clasped her hands behind her back to avoid showing a nervous tick in her fingers. She desperately wanted to touch his hair. It looked so soft and beautiful, like a halo about him. “The honor is all mine to assist you,” she said. She could _feel_ a tension between them. Or was it just her? “I do hope that as you continue to regain your strength, you find the hospitality here to your liking. There are many things you can do here on planet Olkarion.” Her eyes crinkled a bit in merriment. “And I am glad to see my fellow paladins are continuing to keep you company.”  

Lotor’s head tilted the slightest fraction, and it made his usual, jaunty lock of hair slip from his shoulder to hang at the corner of his eye. His face otherwise belied nothing else of his inner thoughts. “I have never known hospitality quite like this, princess. Truly, any refugee of my father’s empire would be blessed to fall into your hands.”

And then an awkward silence stretched between them.

Hunk watched them from his seat on the couch, realizing that something was going on between the two that he didn’t necessarily want to be a part of—or interrupt. The strange emotions in the room were almost palpable. “Hey, don’t mind us,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Now that you’re here, Allura, I’m gonna go finish up on dinner. We can start the movie later, if, uh, if you guys were wanting to…talk. Pidge? Keith?”   

“Totally joining you on that,” Pidge said, standing up, looking back and forth at Allura and Lotor in caution. She worked to re-clasp her watch to her thin wrist as she walked toward the kitchen.

Allura turned to them, her curly hair bouncing lightly with the movement. She managed a tense smile. “That is well, thank you, Hunk and Pidge. And I believe Shiro is still sleeping, but would you see if he’d like to join us for dinner?”

“I can do that,” Keith spoke up, feeling overwhelmed himself by the tension between the two royals and desiring to leave too.

And then Allura’s eyes widened in a way that was almost comical. “Oh, and could you let Coran and Romelle know as well that Lotor is up and about? I believe Coran is still cleaning up from his adventure, and Romelle may be out in the gardens. I do not want them to be surprised.”

Keith’s eyes flickered to Lotor. “I’ll tell them.”

“Thank you very much, Keith. I appreciate your help.”

His eyes turned back to her and softened. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” And then just as silent as ever, the black paladin slipped to the hall leading out to the rest of the building, with Hunk and Pidge whispering something unintelligible as they flailed back through the door to the kitchen, looking over their shoulders a few times.

That left Allura and Lotor alone in the great room, their only other company the vines twisting along the walls and the rays of sunlight between them.

The princess looked back up to Lotor—he was so _tall_ —her eyes wide and expectant. “Well, um…would you like to sit down?”

The broken prince remained standing despite the increasing weakness in his knees and legs. “Yes. Thank you.” His handsome face tensed as he waited for her to sit down first. 

Allura did not quite notice right away what he was doing, turning her head as she swept back her skirts—and rather unceremoniously plopped down on the couch’s corresponding foot rest, the material of her dress swinging in a way that would have been scandalous in centuries past. Then she realized that he was still standing, and her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, please forgive me,” she said, her face blushing in a tinge. “I am very overdressed for a simple dinner, and I fear it has caused you to feel royal decorum is necessary.” She looked up at him with a weak smile. “But no one follows such etiquette anymore. Do not feel that you should wait for me to sit before you do.” She plucked at her skirt, a bit self-consciously. “This dress was the only clean thing I had after Lance struck me with food goo. Next to a Mickey Mouse shirt, but then, you wouldn’t know what that is.”

Lotor hesitated for a time as he sat down opposite of her, his large hand sinking against the soft armrest of the couch to steady himself. He stared at her as they came more eye-to-eye, feeling less monstrously large compared to her slight form. “You wish to remain informal with me?”

Like this, his legs were long enough that he could feel the slight distance between her knee and his. Odd that she had chosen to be so close.

Allura smiled softly. “I should like to think that we could be more than just allies, but good friends.”

He dared to search her eyes, and his deep voice was a velvet wave against her ears. “What do you mean by friends, princess?”

The question dropped between them so innocently, but it carried a painful reminder of all that Lotor had endured in his life. It made Allura’s smile falter. “Why do you ask that?”

His voice strained. “The word is…foreign to the Galra tongue. I have heard it used by other cultures, but I do not understand its nuances.”

It was all Allura could do to keep her face straight from the sudden, harsh twist of her heart. The Lotor she had known—for all of his grave misgivings—had at least known such a word and had used it openly in reference to herself and the paladins. She bit her full lip before she said, “Well…to me, a friend is one you trust. One you talk to about important things—and frivolous things too. One you spend time with because you enjoy that person’s company, and one you go to when you seek advice or comfort.”

The broken prince’s eyes flickered away from her, his face pulling in an odd way. It made his harvesting scars glimmer. “You speak of emotional ties.”

“Why, yes.” She tilted her head a bit in hopes of catching his gaze once more. “An ally is a strategic role, which I know you have agreed to become. But a friend is more than that.” She tried to smile again. “Like when Hunk, Pidge, and I drank the Ipurim tea with you, and you threw that washcloth at Pidge in play. Or even sitting here and talking about movies. That is what friends do.”

Lotor fell silent for some time, thinking back to Pidge’s hug in the midst of his panic attack—and the way Hunk and Keith tried to remind him to breathe. His eyes slid back to hers, and the sunlight shining down upon him made his eyes seem a bright blue. It was a sad, longing blue. “I enjoyed that very much,” he murmured. Then he hesitated. “Do they consider me their…friend?”

“I think they do,” she said comfortingly. “You can ask them to confirm, if you’d like.”

“And you,” he said, his voice growing stronger with some strange passion. It sounded like cautionary hope—and suspicion. “Being all that you are, and knowing all that I am, you would want to be friends as well? To engage in an emotional tie?”

Her voice softened. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

The prince hesitated. “…I have committed many terrible acts in the name of seeking my father’s approval, and in defying it. I fear my present state of weakness and history as a prisoner has colored your vison. Surely, you would not wish to be informally associated with me because of it.”

His words were not entirely a new confession.

“ _I am no innocent party_ ,” he had said to her once.

Allura’s voice was soft. “I’ve made mistakes too, you know.”

“Not as extensive as my own, I assure you.” He pulled back suddenly. His eyes flickered to her. “You are too pure of heart to have inflicted the pain I have on others.”

She pressed her full lips together tightly and argued, “Then you, sir, are a walking contradiction. For all your talk about how _evil_ you are, you jest with Pidge and delight in her talents as if you were already great friends. You are so very soft with her and the other paladins. And yet you sit here before me and say that you cannot be friends with _me_?” 

His breath hitched. His fist clenched once, then twice, and he fell silent.

“Great warriors though they are,” he said, voice strained, “they are without royal title. Their associations with me are less meaningful in the eyes of your other allies. But for you to tie yourself in open…friendship with me would mean Voltron’s— _Altea’s_ —royal approval of my actions.”

The irony was that she had once openly endorsed a particular Emperor Lotor, but she did not dare to speak of such things yet. She asked softly, “Is this about the colonies again? Because you know that—”

“—It is not just the colonies.” He pressed his lips together, and in that moment, his handsome, aristocratic features grew haggard. “Princess, you cannot engage in an emotional tie with the son of Zarkon without staining your very title. It is in your best interest to maintain me as your ally only.”

Allura stared at him with great emotion. It felt, oddly, as if she were losing him even as he sat before her, healthier than ever. “And is that what you _want_ to be?” she whispered. “Only my ally?”

There was a great pause between them.

She watched him visibly swallow. “I cannot ask anything more,” he said eventually, voice soft. “You expended your own life force to replenish mine. You slaved over me as a healer would and forgave me for lifting my claws against you. The strongest repayment I can offer is to ensure the success of your rebellion in any way possible.”

His underlying meaning hung in the air like a suffocating blanket.

Such success meant remaining distant.

The princess suddenly inhaled sharply—and Lotor feared that he had greatly insulted her. Her blue and purple eyes hardened as she leaned forward, uncomfortably close.

There were only scant inches between their noses now. It made his eyes almost cross.

“What,” she demanded, “has this son of Zarkon done that would _so stain_ my reputation if I were to have him as a friend, hmm?” She poked him hard in the chest, and his eyes widened. “Do I not at least deserve to hear it and make a decision of my own?”

His lips dropped open. “That is—” His voice strained, his cheeks slightly flushing at her proximity. “The legal statutes I know from Altea—I assumed you would follow such law.”

She narrowed her pretty eyes, almost in a playful way. “There is something you should know about me, son of Zarkon. Princess though I am, I don’t always play by the rules.”

At that, the prince fell silent. 

As he stared at her, he began to wonder if his fever were returning full force, because he felt a strange, warm feeling streaking through his body.

This pure and beautiful Altean princess was being playful. With _him_.

He swallowed hard again. “I do not think,” he said, his beautiful voice straining, “you will desire to be this close to me once you hear what I have done.” Like this, he could very clearly smell her floral scent and a hint of Lance’s community shampoo in her hair—and, was that the scent of squalia berries on her skin?

She was all so very distracting like this; he nearly missed that she spoke.

“And I have a hard time believing,” she murmured, staring up into his eyes, her breath a soft puff against him, “that you are entirely a savage. What with the mice falling asleep all over you, and how you fawn over Pidge, and your concern for old Altean laws.” She poked his chest again. “I’ve seen you cry, as well.”

The tinge of pink across his cheeks deepened, and his voice raised incredulously. “I was ill and deprived of my senses. It was but a tear or two, if that.”

“I think you’re actually quite soft on the inside,” she accused him playfully.

“Because that is what I _want_ you to believe, princess,” he cut in suddenly, even despite the flush on his face. He leaned in a bit closer, their noses almost touching as he stared into her eyes. “Do not be so easily taken in by one image of me that you ignore all others.”

Their closeness was different in ways it had never been before. He was challenging her, and yet the tension between their mouths seemed to increase all the more for it.

Allura’s lips, he noticed, were very full and pink.

“And is all that your softness is?” she whispered. “An image?”

He hesitated. “One of many I have. That is why you should exercise caution if you wish your royal authority to remain unquestioned by your allies.”

But the princess did not pull away.

“Tell me what you’ve done,” she demanded quietly. “I wish to know.”  

The healing prince inhaled, and then he pulled away, straightening his spine. In that moment, he appeared as every inch a formidable prince. “Very well.” And then the emotion bled away from his face.

Allura realized then she was staring at a different image of him—perhaps one he would use in debriefing sessions with generals.

“Before my imprisonment,” he said, his deep voice velvet smooth, his face unreadable, “I held the title as Champion in the gladiatorial pits before my father’s court. My armory ran red with the blood of many foreign warriors captured for my father’s entertainment.”

“…But not for you own,” she whispered, eyes knowing.

“I will not lie to you,” Lotor murmured, “that I slew willingly.” A derisive, uncomfortable line made his lips grimace the slightest fraction—a calculated break in his mask. “I gained…allies through it. But such forced duels were considered abhorrent in Altean law. By your people’s standards, I should have been put to death long ago.”

Allura bit the inside of her cheek, and her sculpted, white brows knitted together, struggling to imagine him standing in the midst of a gladiatorial ring with blood spattered across his body. He seemed far too delicate at first glance, but she knew intimately that his reflexes were fast—he had slit her cheek in less than a blink of an eye.  She seemed almost as if she were preparing to say something to defend him.

But he cut her off.

“Furthermore,” he added, as if he could already see the fading friendship in her eyes and wishing to get it over with. “I was once the leader of ten fleets, during a time when I had my father’s trust. I led many campaigns to conquer new worlds under the banner of Zarkon. My actions directly resulted in the misery of entire civilizations.” 

She could feel the self-loathing he had by the edge in his voice.

His voice strained. “It was a…calculated risk. I thought by gaining his trust, I could get close enough to kill him and take the throne. My efforts failed spectacularly, and so all those worlds likely remain enslaved by my hand. I would once more be put to death by Altea’s laws for such actions, as well as for attempted fratricide. Your allies would balk at you, princess, to convey any further favor upon me.”

Allura hesitated for a time, considering to what extent this version of Lotor would be likely to lie to her. She had always suspicioned that Lotor had done unsavory things in his past—it would have been nearly unavoidable, given his training and position as the crown prince. But the Lotor she knew had never spoken about it, and she had never brought it up.

This Lotor before her was closer than ever to that past.

“And that,” she asked softly, although it came out as more of a statement, “was when you turned to gathering the remaining Alteans into an army.”

His handsome face twisted into a grimace, and his pulled on his scars. “…Yes.”

She then reached for his hand. His fingers tensed in surprise of her touch, though he did not recoil. He stared down at her hand, in disbelief that the princess would be touching him.

Her small, lithe fingers interwove between his own without fear of his claws.

Lotor gripped her hand back, tentative, as if any action of his own would otherwise scare her away. “Princess?”

For a time, she said nothing, staring down at their intertwined hand and considering the nicks and scars bored into his skin. He carried far more damage on his person than the Lotor she knew—but perhaps not all scars carried over during the cloning process.

Or perhaps they were scars he’d obtained during his imprisonment.

His hand was warm against hers with the rush of his Galran blood. A reminder that he was a living, breathing soul.

She looked up then.

“I appreciate that you have shared this information with me,” she said softly, her voice kind and diplomatic. “I know these topics must be difficult for you to discuss.”

His eyes flickered to hers in increasing apprehension. “The success of this rebellion is all I have if I wish to survive. I will not see my presence disrupt the unity of your allies or your authority.”

The princess—by the stars, was she beautiful—suddenly smiled at him. Her eyes seemed a bit watery. “Your worry is understandable But do you know that within our ranks, we have many who once assisted the Galra empire? Various officers. Galran bounty hunters. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint, but if you told your story, I think many would find you less a liability, and more an inspiration.”

Lotor stared at her, face unreadable.

Allura continued, “In any case, it is far more advantageous that we be friends as opposed to distant allies.” She tilted her head. “For if the daughter of King Alfor can openly reconcile with the _son of Zarkon_ , despite all that has happened, then we may yet represent the very friendships that are the hope for the future.”

The prince remained silent for some time. His next words were carefully chosen. “…You mean to say, you want to be…friends because you see it as an _advantage_ for bolstering the alliance.” 

“Of course.” Her face twisted in humor. “Though you make it sound like a purely political venture. And I never do anything just for the sake of politics.”

He leaned forward once more, their hands still intertwined. Disbelief tinged his voice. “You would _willingly_ make an emotional tie, a genuine one, with one such as myself?”

“Do you not think,” she said softly, “I already have?” And she squeezed his hand lightly. “Or that the paladins have not as well?”

Lotor’s handsome face tightened with a mix of awe and disbelief once more. He fell silent, unable to fathom the complexity that was Princess Allura of Altea, who seemed to fear nothing—not even his past.

He swallowed hard, thinking of all her interactions with the paladins. He dared to say the first thing on his mind. “Does this mean I should throw packets of squalia berries at you, as the paladin Lance did?”

And then her full lips stretched into a brilliant smile, and she quirked a brow, leaning forward a bit more. “If you follow in Lance’s footsteps on that,” she giggled, “then you should know I tackled him quite soundly for it. And gladiatorial experience or not, I’m not afraid to do the same to you.”

His cobalt eyes crinkled in merriment and awe once again. “Hn. And after your poetry about friendship, how quickly you speak of war.” 

“Oh, but these kinds of wars are so much more fun.”

His lips stretched, his face lifting with a handsome energy that seemed to drown out the evidence of torture that streaked down his skin. “…I look forward to them, princess.”

And in that moment, with his hand clasped within hers, he felt for the first time in his 10,000 years of life truly safe and warm. It was a deep feeling beneath his skin, like a sunrise attempting to burst from his chest.  

_I am not an isolated system._

He clung hard to the feeling in awe.

_Friends._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! Apologies for the extended wait on this chapter. I wrote about 18 pages of stuff and then deleted or otherwise saved it for later chapters, which meant I had to do a lot of rewriting for this one. I struggled with Lotor a bit here, but I'm hoping he's still in the realm of realistic, haha. But if you're ever worried about the gap of time between updates, feel free to send me a note on [my Tumblr]() to check in, and I'll respond with my progress on the next chapter. :) 
> 
> (As an aside, I kinda wanna write another fic, in which Lotor reacts to human movies?? And it’s like, Pidge and Hunk’s version of Mystery Science Theater 3000?? But I digress. I promise to keep movie commentary to a minimum here.) 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter and if you’d like to see more! Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following people for reviewing last time: Cutting classics, Gabriel, PetulantPanda, EllieDoll, Pinecones, itwillalwaysbeyours, electronicpencil, shorthairedme, wolf_feather, Nagisa, UltraFirelily, Sachianna, DestiniesEntwined, sophiebystarlight, reyechan, Natsumehikari76, KokoaKirkland, ahyeon, Amanda, garbage_dono, Mim, MrsKohakuSato, KairaB, californianNostalgia, pinkychan, Angela, mutedtempest, RinoaHeart, Kyndall, Dasha, Greenwren, anything_past_or_present, NickyADon, JadziaDax, StarrBryte, singwithin, AfroditeOhki, and darkelf19! 
> 
> I really appreciate you all, as well the often in-depth reviews and analyses you offer this story. Please know that I read each review and greatly appreciate the time you put into reading and reviewing! 
> 
> You can read my personal review reply to you [here on my new tumblr](https://the-lightning-strikes-again.tumblr.com/post/179703705174/the-second-law-chapter-9-review-replies). Please see my author’s note at the end for more information about my new tumblr.

Soon enough, the lounge room echoed with the voices of many paladins—and the delicious scent of Hunk’s cooking.

The yellow paladin was setting out finished dishes out on the counter while swatting away Keith and Allura’s sneaking hands. Pidge was meanwhile in the middle of the room, connecting a few power transformers together with a heavy cable, mumbling directions under her breath. Then she flipped a switch on the first box, and the great wall opposite the couch began to retract away into what appeared to be a large, black screen. It soon flickered with the familiar cover of their movie for the night.

Lotor was sitting cross-legged beside her, curiously pondering over the technology. He scratched his chin with a skeletal hand, his now-dry hair fanning against his back with a shine. “How fascinating,” he murmured. “So you use this electromagnetic turbine here not to generate energy, but to disperse it.”

“Yes,” Pidge affirmed distractedly as she pushed the transformers back against the wall. “Earth tech, or at least the kind I have, functions at a certain voltage—that’s our standard of measurement for electrical power. But that measurement is a lot smaller than what nanocellulose can conduct, so I had to build these babies myself to ensure our movie player wouldn’t catch on fire when I hooked it up.”

The prince’s lips twitched, and his eyes crinkled in amusement, his hand falling from his face. “How strange to consider that you would want to _lose_ power. Tell me, do you store the dispersed amount for later use?”

“Are you kidding me?” She looked up at him, pushing up her glasses. There was a glint in her eye. “I’m not an animal. That’s why I also have this baby—” She flicked her finger against a black box, and the side shimmered green for a tick from the small impact tremor— “which functions like a battery and recycles the unused energy before the system draws new power from the main cable.”

Lotor hummed in interest. He dared to reach out and to flick his finger against the black battery, and his elfin ears perked up in delight as a green glow emitted across the side, then faded away. A genuine smile stretched his face, revealing his fangs. “How marvelous. The workmanship reflects that of the fan you made me.”

Pidge leaned forward. “So you finally saw it?”  

He looked up at her, expression merry. “Yes. I fear I shall have a difficult time outdoing your design. It is sleek and efficient.”

Around that time, one glimmering Coran appeared from the hall, rejuvenated from his Olkari worm adventures and wearing a refreshed suit. “ _Hello_ , everybody!” he called, striking a pose that he thought was dashing. “Your favorite movie commentator has arrived—fully clean, I should say—to provide, uh…your favorite commentary! On this most awaited showing of—” he turned to Pidge. “Number five, what are we watching again?”

“ _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” she deadpanned.

“Right. That one.” And then Coran’s gaze landed upon Lotor, and his face stretched with a smile. “Ah. Sweaty one with a bun. You’re up and about, except you’re looking far less sweaty, and you’re…missing a bun.” His brows suddenly crinkled in disappointment, and he tapped his chin. “Hmm. I’m going to need a new name for you, then. Preferably something that still rhymes.”

The prince looked up at him, somewhat bewildered. “What?” he managed, voice straining a bit. His white brows knitted together. “Can you not simply…use my name, good sir?”

Pidge’s voice edged with a tease. “Nah, that would make too much sense.”

Coran wasn’t listening. He instead snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it,” he said. “It doesn’t rhyme, but it’ll do for you. You’re Point Five.”

“…Point Five,” Lotor repeated incredulously.

“Yes, because you’re so tall!” Coran looked extraordinarily pleased with himself as he brushed imaginary dirt from his clean suit. “And the Fives like technology!”

Lotor’s face twitched in confusion, and he turned to Pidge in hopes that she could clarify.

She sighed. “He numbered us all by height. So I’m Number Five, because I’m…short.” The word fell flat on her lips. “Shiro is Number One, but since you’re so tall…”

“It’s perfect!” Coran said with a sniff. “Point Five, yes. That’ll do.”

The prince, entirely unused to the concept of nicknames, said nothing for a tick. Then he said to Pidge, “…So we are Fives, you and I?”

“Guess so.” Then a mischievous glint reappeared in her eye. “Fives for the win,” she added, and she raised up her hand.

Lotor paused at that. He tilted his head. “Is this an earth gesture?”

She smiled at him. “Yeah. It’s called a high five.” She made a noise of amusement. “Ha, more fives. Come on, give me your hand. I’ll show you.”

And so the prince tentatively held out his skeletal hand, watching her with curious—and somewhat guarded—eyes. She was not likely to turn against him.

Pidge, without one ounce of fear—by the stars, did this little girl even realize how _dangerous_ he could be—grabbed his wrist and then raised up his palm. She gently slapped her hand against his. “A high five,” she said. “It’s what people do to celebrate something.”

Lotor’s cobalt gaze had widened a bit at the gesture. He noticed then that her small hands were barely larger than his palm alone, his fingers stretching far beyond hers, and he suddenly felt a combination of awe and a terrible need to protect her from everything.

She was so tiny.

“Okay, so,” she cut into his thoughts. “Let’s try it again.” She raised up her hand.

And he hesitated for only a tick before he gave her a soft high five.

Her face split into a smile. “Yeah.”

Meanwhile, Coran had wandered off toward the food, lifting his nose and sniffing the air. “Hunk,” he called out, “I say, what all did you make? These look like Earth dishes.”

Hunk playfully swatted Allura’s hand once again from the sweet bread and then put his hands on his hips, looking pleased. “Okay, we talked about desserts for dinner, right? But I also know that, being paladins of Voltron, we can’t be strung out on a sugar high. So I made Hawaiian bread rolls, because they’re sweet, but they’re good carbs. The big pot is a sweet potato soup—high fiber and vitamins. I did have to sub a few ingredients, like using the Olkari version of an onion, but I think it gave it an even deeper flavor.” He waggled his brows. “And then I’m planning on making Earth brownies for dessert.”

Allura’s eyes widened, and she clasped her hands together, making a noise of delight. “Truly, Hunk? Earth brownies?”

“Yep,” he said proudly. “Though I’m gonna cheat. You know, with a brownie mix.”

Coran looked ready to express his excitement as well, but he was interrupted. “You know how much I love—"

The paladin Lance entered the room a dramatic air, his boyish face glowing and hair still wet from a shower. His brown eyes stared at them all in great suspicion. “—Okay,” he called out, voice flat in an irritated whine. “So I went to get a shower, and I noticed that my _all-new, unopened_ shampoo and conditioner are missing too. And I know one of you stole them.”

The entire room fell silent, and both Pidge and Lotor looked at each other, then looked up at the other paladin.

Lance turned his hard gaze to Lotor first. “You,” he pressed. “The ones you got from Keith—they weren’t full, were they?”

The prince wordlessly shook his head, staring at the paladin with calculating eyes. He recognized the voice, but this was the first time he was truly seeing Lance. The boy seemed young like the others, and his bristling irritation afforded him little more than the aura of a pouting kitten.

Lance, Lotor recalled, was also the same one who had swooned at Allura’s compliments.

Which meant he was easily manipulated. Emotional. Likely easy to anger and easy to settle down.

Lance turned to Allura then, who stared wide-eyed at him. “And you,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I guess that means you’re innocent too, because you had the old ones that Keith took.”

Allura laughed in a nervous way. “Why, yes. The old ones. They were quite old. Please Lance, let us not get into another food goo fight. My wardrobe cannot take it.”

And then his eyes landed on Coran, who had stiffened and was holding very, very still.

Lance’s eyes narrowed to slits. “ _You_.”

Coran turned around, looking nervous. He tried to laugh as he raised up his hands. “Now, now—these kinds of accusations are very serious, you know.”

The boy stalked up to him and pulled on a lock of Coran’s red hair. “You _smell_ like it,” he cried. And then he began to whine, a tear in his eyes as he fell to his knees dramatically. “Coran, how could you betray me like this?”

The Altean man began to cry a crocodile tear as well. “It was the Olkari worm,” he wailed. “Its saliva solidified in my hair—I couldn’t get it out. I was desperate. But now I’m back to being the gorgeous man that I am.” And truly, the light of the room seemed to shimmer off his red locks and his proud mustache. “You can’t blame me for that, can you?”

Lance pressed his lips together, still looking to be two ticks away from a major tantrum. And then he sighed, and all of the emotion bled out from him. “You guys are so getting a bill,” he complained, standing up and crossing his arms. “I can’t believe this. My own team—a band of thieves. And I’m the one who’s supposed to be the _thief_.”

At that, Lotor’s brows furrowed.

Pidge caught his expression and whispered to him, “It’s a Monsters and Mana thing. A game we play. He’s not really a thief.”

“Ah,” the prince said, although he understood only the word _game_. And then his lips thinned in determination. He planted his skeletal hand on the floor and forced himself into a stand. “Paladin Lance,” he called.

The boy turned to look at him.

He bowed as he would for a great dignitary—not quite so low as for a queen, but enough—and said, “I am in your debt, for using your possessions.” He straightened up. “As I shall be soon employed as a painter for the new Voltron ship, allow me to repay you for the amount I have taken. I trust this pledge will help to quell your dissatisfaction.”

The boy’s brown eyes widened as he stared up at the prince in shock. “What?”

Keith leaned forward on the counter and translated, “It means he wants to pay you back.”

Lance gave him a dark glare. “No, I know that.” He waved at Lotor in something of a frenzy. “What I mean is, I can’t believe the guy who’s been here for like, _two days_ , offers to pay up, and you guys don’t?”

Hunk piped up. “Hey, I do all the cooking around here—mostly—so that counts for me.”

Lance pointed at him. “Yes. Totally. Thank you, Hunk, for being a valuable contributor.” He then turned to Lotor and added, “You were pulled into this by Keith, so you’re off the hook for now. But if you use my stuff again, then I’m definitely taking you up on your offer.”

“…Off the hook?” Lotor repeated, his head tilting in curious amusement of what he assumed to be an Earth idiom.

Keith looked up and then translated again, dryly, “It means, he’s releasing you from the debt. And he’s giving it to me.” He leaned his cheek in his hand against the counter and secretly stole a sweet roll. He bit into it before Hunk could stop him, and his voice grew muffled. “Thanks, Lance.”

“So,” Lance called out, “I’m gonna find a jar. I’m gonna put it in this lounge. And if any of you wanna use my shampoo and conditioner, you’re gonna have to help me buy it by donating some GAC.” He paused. “Except for Hunk. Because I would starve to death without his cooking.”

Lotor clasped his hands behind his back in a hesitant thought. He did quite like the way his hair felt as a result of Lance’s products. “How much do such products cost, Paladin Lance?”

“Uh oh,” Pidge teased. “You’re asking him to do math. This could get dangerous.”

Lance glared at her playfully. “Hey, I can figure stuff out, when I want to.” And then he added to Lotor, “It’s a very, very expensive brand. Like, Earth kings and queens use it.”

Allura leaned on the counter, tilting her head. “How much?”

“Depending on the exchange rates,” Lance said, waving a hand airily, “anywhere between four- and six-thousand GAC.”

Suddenly, Keith choked on his sweet roll.

Lotor blinked, and he struggled to hide the genuine surprise in his eyes. His face twitched. “Six-thousand GAC,” he repeated. “For hair products.”

“Like I said, expensive,” Lance affirmed.

Pidge’s mouth had dropped open. “You’re dishing out three-hundred dollars just for a bottle of shampoo and conditioner? What’s it made from, diamonds?”

“No, it’s a secret formula,” the boy huffed. “Which obviously works, because come on.” He ran his hand through his short hair, looking as if he were a model. “You can tell.”

Lotor, meanwhile, had grown a puzzled look. “I would have to work twelve vargas to pay for it,” he murmured, touching his silk hair as if it were suddenly made of diamonds as well. He struggled to imagine himself painting a ship for so long, just in the name of a triviality.

“Ah ah, Point Five,” Coran cut in, twisting his mustache. “You have to figure in tax too. That’s twelve percent from every paycheck to help upkeep the Coalition armory and fighter jets.”

“…Fourteen vargas, then.”

The Altean smiled. “There you go.”  

Allura leaned forward. “Lance,” she said, knitting her brows, “how in the world are you managing to pay for these bottles at such a cost?” There was a twitch of guilt in her now. “Our allowances from the Coalition are quite fair, but certainly not enough to sustain this habit.”  

His expression melted into something a bit deviant, and he gave her finger guns. “Paladin of Voltron, baby. I buy one and get one free.” And then he sobered up. “But seriously, yeah, at the rate we’re going through it, it’s totally cutting into my savings. Please help me.”

“Absolutely,” Allura said, nodding. In doing so, she tried to sneak her hand to the sweet roll basket, and she managed to grab one before Hunk could stop her. She deftly avoided him and bit down on the roll in delight, her muffled voice a giggle.

The sound inspired Lotor to flicker his eyes to her.  

She managed a close-lipped smile, looking terribly mischievous.

And then Lotor heard the sound of footsteps from down the hall, and his ears flicked. He turned his head to see another enter—the black paladin, Shiro. He was wearing what looked to be rumpled sleep pants and a sleeveless shirt.

The gray-haired man was in the middle of a yawn. “Morning, all,” he called out.

Allura politely responded, “I’m so happy you’re joining us, Shiro. But it’s, um, actually evening.” She then popped the rest of the roll into her mouth.

His bleary, golden eyes turned to the windows, where the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. “Oh. Right.” He shrugged as he stretched like a cat. “Evening, everyone.” His bones cracked in a few odd ways, and even the metal of his arm seemed to creak. He turned to Lotor and gave him a pleasant if not still sleepy smile. “Nice to see you looking better.”

Lotor bowed his head in respect. “Thank you, Shiro.”

“Keith messaged me that it was time for dinner?” the man said, gazing at the counter.

“Totally—we can start grabbing plates now.” But then Hunk’s eyebrows furrowed as he began counting the heads in the room. “Except…we’re missing one.”

Romelle.

Keith spoke up, his voice quiet. “I talked to Romelle earlier—she said she wasn’t feeling great. She wasn’t, uh, sure she’d make it for dinner.”

The silence that emanated from the room suggested something was quite wrong, even though Lotor did not understand why.

“That’s…unfortunate,” Allura said softly. She bit her full lip, her brows angling downward in a mix of sorrow and guilt. “She was wanting to watch this movie a few weeks ago as well. Perhaps I should see what’s wrong?”

Hunk laughed nervously. “Oh, man,” he whispered, staring out the corner of his eye to Lotor’s tall frame—hanging like a wraith against the backdrop of the sunset. They all knew exactly why Romelle was feigning sickness. “Yeah, I hope she’s, uh, feeling okay.”

Allura gently nudged his foot in warning. “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, the princess moved to exit the room, intending to speak to Romelle about her fears once and for all. She bit her lip determinedly, her eyes set toward the hallway with all of their rooms.

But then, of all things, Romelle’s sweet voice echoed off the walls from that hallway. It was a small and hesitant sound. “Are you, um, all eating dinner?”

Allura stopped in her tracks, eyes widening.

Romelle hesitantly entered the room, holding onto the locks of one of her pig tails, biting her lip. Her eyes—darting, cautionary, swiveled around to the room, landing upon several of the paladins, and then the standing Lotor himself. She sucked in a tight, uneasy breath, looking away from his skeletal form and the haggard, sunken lines of his face, upon which the vestiges of harvesting scars remained.

“Oh, Romelle,” Allura called out in pleasant surprise, her eyebrows flying up. She paused for only a tick before she reached out to her, offering a gentle hand. “We were just talking about, um—” She started again, staring in concern. “Well, Keith said you were not feeling well and that you might not join us.”

The younger Altean woman hesitantly took Allura’s hand, which was warm and welcoming. Romelle swallowed hard, unable to look anyone in the eye as she whispered, “I’m a little better.”

The princess leaned in, her brows knitting. She could see the anxiety clearly written on the woman’s face—Romelle was struggling to be even in the presence of Lotor, for one reason or another. “If you’re still not feeling well,” she murmured comfortingly, “then there is no need to push yourself.” She smiled weakly. “Just tell us how we can help you.”

Romelle bit her lip. “…I think eating and watching an Earth movie would help?” she whispered, trying to find a humor. She dared to flicker her eyes to Lotor, who had remained standing at attention for her. And then she inhaled shakily and turned to face him—knowing that it was inevitable, and that it was best to work through the dread.

She pulled away from Allura.

Lotor was still weak. She could see it in the haggard, emaciated lines of his face and in the way his eyes did not shine but held a skittish caution to them. His bony shoulders were tense.  

It seemed he had picked up on her ambivalence to him.

The light harvesting scars upon his face tightened for a time before he pulled himself in a bow, his long hair slipping down his shoulders. “Lady Romelle,” he greeted hesitantly. “I recall that you assisted Princess Allura during one of my…mishaps.”

Her purple eyes widened. Lotor had never once afforded her such a title before. “The broom,” she whispered, picking nervously at one of her fingernails for a tick, and then weaving her fingers around a blond lock of her hair. “Yes.”

Her breath hitched then, thinking of the grand way the Lotor she knew would smile and beguile all, so pleasant, so deceiving—

_“Romelle,” Keith had said gently. “I know you’re scared, and I respect that. But maybe you should try interacting with him. Then you don’t have to take my word for it, and you can judge for yourself what he is. I mean, he’s definitely Lotor. But he’s…different too.”_

Lotor’s blue eyes were sad and young in ways she had never seen. It made a strange pain crawl uncomfortably into her collarbones. Bandor’s worn face reflected out from Lotor’s in a way she did not expect. It was more than the scars—

It was a deep haunting within them both.

Romelle looked down, biting her lip.  

Lotor raised up from his bow, looking hesitant. “I regret to hear of your sickness,” he said, his voice a clear, beautiful bell—a voice she knew that had once weakened the knees of many an Altean at the colony. “I hope it is not in relation to my own. I am uncertain of the virulence of Olkari illnesses.”

The room remained silent for a time. The younger Altean woman flinched before she managed a nervous laugh, relieved that he had just offered the best excuse for her behavior toward him. “Oh, uh. W-well.” She suddenly looked to Allura for desperate help. “It’s not quite that kind of—"

Allura cut in. “—Romelle is sensitive to many things,” she said diplomatically. “But she is very resilient and strong as well.” She smiled hesitantly, not daring to get her hopes up too high for a reconciliation. “Would you like a bowl of soup? I would be happy to help you.”

Romelle clasped her hands together. “Yes, please,” she said relieved. “I am a bit hungry, having been…a bit sick and all.” Her blond brows knitted together fervently. “And I really, _really_ don’t want to miss this Earth movie that Keith said you were all going to watch.”

And just like that, the tension in Allura’s shoulders dissipated into great thankfulness. “Of course.”

The blond Altean leaned forward. “But,” she whispered, “can I sit _away_ from him?”

She did not catch the way Lotor’s ears flicked at the sound of the whisper, his Galran hearing much better than that of an Altean’s, even with his illness.

Lotor suddenly felt a familiar emotion overcome him, working up his body to chill it with something cold. The promise of a night amongst friends slowly faded away into his usual understanding that such things were not to exist in his life. “My apologies, Lady Romelle,” he called to her, revealing his excellent hearing.

Romelle turned, eyes wide.

The prince said softly, “I will leave if you fear my illness so much. I should not wish to intrude on this space, which was rightfully yours before my arrival.”   

Allura made an uncomfortable noise in the back of her throat, her eyes darting from Lotor to Romelle.

The entire room fell silent in tension.

The blond-haired Altean stared up at the broken face of the prince, which seemed to age in a strange acceptance as the ticks passed.

It left Romelle grasping desperately for words. She held the entire power structure of the room in her hands. And though she desired to banish him back to the infirmary on instinct—to hide him away, out of sight from the free halls—she struggled to speak such a demand.

She watched the merriment fade out of his eyes, the relaxed ease giving way to some usual suspect of forlornness. The Lotor she knew always wore a distant smile, his true emotions an impenetrable question.

This Lotor was more expressive. The lack of recognition on his face was unsettling. 

She inhaled sharply and whispered, “No.”

His eyes snapped to her eyes in curiosity and a flicker of hope.

She swallowed hard.  Her sweet voice echoed softly but carried an edge of great pain. “It’s not your sickness. It’s just…you remind me of someone I know, who I thought hurt me. And my family.” Her voice strained. “And maybe there was more to it, but—” She pressed her lips together, words failing her. All the pain she felt inside—the flashbacks of touching Bandor’s emaciated face—felt convoluted, now that she knew Haggar had been infecting the colony and the Lotor she knew.

She now had even fewer answers, and even more questions.

The prince paused at that, calculating a response. He assumed she spoke of his Galran blood and lavender skin. “That individual who hurt you,” he murmured. “Were they Galran, like me?”

She hesitantly nodded.

“Then I humbly request,” he said, voice softening, “that you judge me by my actions, and not by your preconceptions of my race.” He raised his emaciated, skeletal hands in a form of miserable amusement. “And I shall do the same for you, even though the witch was Altean.”

Romelle looked at the earnestness in his eyes.

She glanced once to Allura before hesitantly nodding her head and managing a weak but earnest smile of her own.

* * *

 

Lotor soon found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the couch. The various other paladins had piled around the couch as well, with Pidge sitting to his left atop the couch’s matching foot rest. Allura sat to his right, where she was flanked by Hunk and Coran, then Romelle on the far side. On the couch, Lance sat behind Pidge, with Keith and Shiro piled into the remaining space.

Lotor struggled to believe they had managed to fit everyone into such a small space. His crossed knee brushed up against Allura’s thigh, her legs demurely stretched out in a long line of her pretty skirts, her ankles crossed over each other with the gold threads of her slippers catching the light of the sunset.

He quickly darted his eyes back down to his soup bowl, delicately sipping on his spoon to hide that he was staring at the princess—who so unashamedly dared to sit beside him, to brush up against him like a comrade in arms…

“Okay, guys,” Hunk declared cheerfully. “Let’s get this party started.”

And then he turned on the movie.

The screen flickered to life with picturesque scenes of Earth nature and calming music. It inspired Lotor to lean forward in interest, his elfin ears perked at attention to catch every dip in the music and atmospheric rise of the musical scale. “What are these instruments?” he murmured, lowering his soup spoon. “The notes are a quick resonance, like a bell, but yet not.”  

“That would be a piano,” Hunk said cheerfully from his spot on the couch, voice muffled with a Hawaiian roll. “It’s like, uh…um, hmm. Guys, how do you explain a piano?”

Pidge adjusted her glasses before deadpanning, “A large stringed instrument designed in the 1700s. If I know anything about these kinds of movies, then we’ll probably see one soon.”

But at that point, Lotor’s swimming mind had already refocused on another aspect of the movie entirely. He dipped his spoon back into his soup bowl, narrowing his eyes at the screen as the camera panned across a great house and began to follow a pretty, tall human woman in a brown dress. His ears were still occasionally flicking at the binaural capture of the sound. “How intriguing,” he murmured softly. “Your recording devices do not remain stationary, but they move in time and capture the living depth of the moment.”

The paladin Lance, who sat behind him cross-legged on the couch, stared down at Lotor in surprise. “Like, what else were you expecting?”

Lotor paused for a time. “In my culture,” he said delicately, “we had live reenactments of our most defining moments as a species, including the advent of the Vrepit Sa and of the ascension of my father to the throne. These performances were captured as a stationary broadcast. But your…movies are far more complex in structure.” He set down his spoon, somewhat distracted, eyes blown wide as he grabbed onto his Hawaiian bread roll. He was in awe of how the line of sight followed the characters. H dipped the roll in his soup and munched thoughtfully, his explorer’s heart thriving. “This says much about your people, that you would create such complex art.”

As the movie played, Lotor took in the soft colors of the nature of Earth—which seemed to carry more yellows and reds in the vegetation compared to Olkarion’s rich greens. He slurped on his soup, trying to savor the taste of Hunk’s cooking. To savor taste itself.

By that time, the beginning credits had begun to fade into the main content of the movie, and Allura had finished her bowl of soup. And then she slid her eyes to Lotor’s bowl and casually dunked a piece of her roll into it.

His eyes snapped to her, widening a fraction.

Allura flashed a playful smile. “I just want to steal a bit. I hope you don’t mind.” Then she popped the sweet bread in her mouth.

Lotor’s voice was a soft whisper of surprise beneath the backdrop of the movie music. “Not at all, princess.” In the increasing darkness, the small flush of heat upon his face remained hidden as he held out his soup for her to dip again, almost reverent that the princess would dare to eat from the same bowl as a half-breed.

Meanwhile, Lance leaned to the left and unceremoniously pressed his nose into Pidge’s hair, like a dog, making an indignant noise.

The girl stiffened, her face blushing. “Excuse me?” she snapped, trying to lean away without falling off the foot stool or spilling her bowl of soup onto Lotor. “I’m trying to watch something—you got a problem with personal space?”

“No,” Lance retorted, voice strained in betrayal. “You’ve got a problem with stealing my stuff too! You smell like my shampoo! Gah, even _you_!”

She paused and bit her lip, setting her soup bowl back into her lap. “Well, I mean…” She fiddled with a feathery end of her short hair and gave a nervous giggle. “It makes my hair so soft and silky.”

The boy moaned. “I’m betrayed by everyone.”

From the other side of the couch, Keith called out in boredom, leaning his cheek in his hand, “At least it’s more exciting than this movie. Is there even a plot to this thing yet?”

“Of course there is,” piped up Coran, voice muffled by a Hawaiian roll. He waved at the screen. “This human girl here named Elizabeth is sulunking her maltalbaneen while surveying the room of eligible young bachelors to wed. The plot is as plain as the nose on my face!”

Shiro’s voice strained as he leaned forward on the couch, narrowing his eyes in a parental concern. “She’s sulunking her…what?”

Pidge cut in, “What is sulunking?”

Lance looked disconcerted as well. “And something about bananas? Dude, I do not see bananas in this movie. No one’s even wearing yellow.”

Coran face faulted. “No, no. _Sulunking your maltalbaneen_. It means advertising one’s singleness or availability. What in the stars is a banana?” And then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait. No, I do recall bananas from our time on Earth! They looked oddly like the anatomical structure of—”

Allura leaned forward to glare at Coran, eyes narrowing to slits. “—Do _not_ finish that sentence while we have respectable guests here.”  

“Uh…er, I mean there’s actually an odd metaphorical connection between bananas and the desired end goal of a woman sulunking her—”

“— _Coran_.”

“Oh, why are you looking at _me_?” Coran laughed nervously, looking a little red around his collar. “I’m just explaining the delicacies of Earth plots. The one you should be chastising is Point Five, who hasn’t had a cup of Ipurim tea since before we started dinner.”

Lotor’s elfin ears pulled back at the sound of his nickname, and then his eyes widened a fraction at the reminder of the tea. “Your concern is not necessary. I am feeling quite—” His voice cut off as Allura turned to him and unceremoniously pressed her worried hand against his forehead, squishing his bang into his eye. He squeezed that eye shut, his face twisting in a grimace as he flushed at her touch.

“—I forgot about your fever,” Allura moaned in worry. “Oh dear, you are still a bit warm.” Then she pulled away and stood in a flurry of her skirts to find the Ipurim tea pot and a clean cup, the purple of her dress catching the movie’s lights. “Thank you, Coran, even if I know you are just trying to avoid being in trouble yourself.”

Lotor’s voice strained. “Truly, I feel better, princess. I am certain I do not need to drink more of that—”

“—You need to drink it for at least a full quintant to ensure the virus can’t mutate,” Coran interrupted cheerfully. “As a matter of fact, I might have a cup myself. My intestinal eel settles down a bit when I drink it.”

To his right, one Romelle’s eyes were glued to the screen, her thin brows furrowed. “Oh, you’re all missing the names of the new people they have introduced!” she whined. On the screen, three aristocrats stood about the Bennet family, caught in awkward conversation. “Is the red-haired one Mr. Bingley?”

“You got it,” Hunk called out.

Romelle bit her lip, grasping a lock of blond hair from one of her pigtails. She dared to confess, “He is a very beautiful man, with a merry laugh. I quite like him.”

Lance rubbed his chin as he narrowed his gaze at the screen. “Hmm. The dude kinda looks like…Coran? Minus the mustache?”

By the counter, Allura began to giggle as she poured a few cups of tea, her lips splitting open with a smile. “Lance, I believe you’re right! Oh, Coran—did you happen to have any relatives who moved to Earth long ago?”

Coran was positively preening. He stroked his mustache and looked a bit proud. “No, but I do say—this Bingley fellow does seem to have my hair.”

Lotor’s eyes turned away from Allura to the movie, appraising the character’s awkward laugh. “He most certainly has your spastic manner,” he offered, somewhat irritated that Coran had reminded Allura about the tea.   

Coran face-faulted, but Allura and Shiro laughed, and Keith snorted in amusement.

And then the princess moved forward, offering one cup to her advisor and the remaining one to Lotor.

Lotor stared down at the tea cup with a genuine grimace. “…Thank you,” he forced himself to say.

Behind him, Lance leaned forward, furrowing his brown eyebrows at the sight. “Oh man,” the boy said in a curious horror, “I do not envy you. That looks pretty bad, like worse than nunvill bad.” He leaned forward a bit more and delicately sniffed the vapors of the tea, only to recoil back. “What the cheese, I feel like I’m suddenly smelling colors but not in a good way.”

The prince’s lips flattened. “An apt description.” And then he dutifully sipped upon the tea cup, the once-pleasant aftertaste of Hunk’s cooking corroding into the acrid, sensory-overwhelming barrage of sandpaper and grass. He set the tea cup down by his leg, and then he forced himself to swallow. With his senses fully returned, it made every cup worse than the last one.

The only thing that soothed his irritated nerves was Princess Allura, looking at him with those worried eyes of hers. She bit her full, lower lip and saying, “I’m sorry it is so unpleasant for you.” She wrung her hands. “I wish I could make it better, but Coran makes a solid point, you know.”

Lotor paused for a time. “Yes,” he moaned lightly. “I suppose he does. I rather hope not to lose my senses again, especially with such delights as an Earth movie." 

* * *

 

As the movie played, the alien prince became increasingly enraptured by the minutiae of human living, even to the point of forgetting the taste of his Ipurim tea as he sipped it. His natural curiosity and desire to learn made his heart thrum strongly in delight of the movie. His attention had narrowed to the spin of skirts and the lilt of smooth voices and the sound of rain and thunder as the leading actress ran past the clothes line—

And then suddenly, the movie paused.

Lotor blinked in surprise while a few others—Romelle and Allura…and Lance? made a noise of displeasure.

“Sorry guys,” Hunk called out. He had snuck off to the kitchen for a bit, and had returned with an object in hand. “But we need a moment of silence for our final box of brownie mix from Earth.” He lifted the brown, slim box up into the air. “We can’t let its sacrifice be in vain like the one before it, which disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Lance, I’m looking at you.” 

“Hey,” Lance cut in, looking pained. “I didn’t know our supply was so low. Someone could’ve told me.”

Hunk ignored him. “We gotta reflect,” he said with increasing passion, a tear in his eye, “about all the joys we’ve had thanks to Earth’s processed, artery-clogging foods of deliciousness.” He closed one hand into a fervent fist, looking as if he were ready for a banner to wave behind him. “And man, we gotta hope this final box helps our taste buds survive until our next Earth shipment, because it’s gonna be a while.”

And then all of the paladins, including Shiro, bowed their heads in a deep, half-reverent silence.

After several ticks, Lotor decided then to lean toward Allura, his white brows knitted in a curious and half-scandalized puzzle. “Did someone die to procure this food item?”

She snapped open one eye. There was a glimmer of mischief in her. “No,” she whispered back. “it’s just really good. But scarce.”

Hunk lowered the box solemnly. “And now,” he declared, “it is time for the sacred tradition of choosing who gets to lick the blessed bowl of brownie batter.”  

Lotor’s eyes widened a fraction in bewilderment as the paladins all looked at each other and then scrambled up to Hunk—even Allura, in all her royal finery and skirts.

“Wait, wait,” called out Shiro, raising his hands. “If this really is the last box, then maybe we should forgo the straws thing, grab some spoons, and share it.”

Pidge whined, “But then we’ll all only get a spoonful, if that.”

“It’s a serious sacrifice,” Shiro nodded, trying to look grim despite the smile threatening to stretch his lips. “But everyone would get something that way.”

“A marvelous idea, Shiro,” Allura seconded. She beamed brightly in appreciation. “I should very much like Lotor to have the opportunity to try the batter.” She tapped her fingertips together with barely contained excitement. “And um, to have some for myself.”

Hunk gave them a thumbs up. “We can totally do that. Good thinking.” And he disappeared, leaving the paladins buzzing in anticipation. Romelle quickly followed him, perhaps in hopes of escaping an awkward interaction with Lotor or in hopes of otherwise stealing a larger share of brownie batter before everyone else.

 “Hunk!” she called desperately, her voice muffling behind her as the door closed. “I shall help you!”

That left Lotor as the only one still sitting down. He hesitated for a tick before he dutifully planted his hand on the floor and began to force himself up, mourning the loss of the paused Earth movie while finding himself curious of the strange rituals of the Paladins of Voltron.

Before he realized it, Allura had turned back to him, her eyes wide. “Oh,” she said. “Let me help you.” And then she held out her slim, dainty hand, smiling encouragingly.

Lotor stared at up at her, tentatively grabbing onto her.  

She lifted him up easily, as if he were little more than a cloud. He towered over her at full height, still in amazement of her callouses and her strength, compact in so beautiful a form. Or perhaps, he thought, he found her beautiful because she was so strong.

“Thank you, princess,” he said, his velvet voice soft for her.

She smiled brightly at him. “You absolutely _must_ try the batter,” she told him conspiratorially. “It’s just as good as the baked thing. The people of Earth knew what they were doing when they developed such a cuisine.”

He paused, daring to narrow his eyes in disbelief. “…Are they truly better than Earth animal crackers?”

“There’s no comparison,” she said firmly, eyes lit in delight. “They’re positively divine, you’ll see.”

And soon enough, Hunk and Romelle returned. The young Altean girl looked somewhat more rejuvenated, with a spot of chocolate at the corner of her lip and a new triumphant glint in her eye that she’d managed to sneak some before all the rest. She held the sacred bowl of brownie batter, which Hunk had only sloppily scraped for the brownie pan itself, leaving quite a bit left over for them all to enjoy. She sat the bowl on the counter, but not before sneaking a finger into it and innocently trying to hide her spoils.

“Hey, now,” Hunk warned playfully, elbowing her aside. He expertly spun a spoon in his hand and then dipped it into the batter, and offered it to her. “Save some for the rest of us.”

Romelle gladly accepted the spoon while the paladins all crowded around, waiting for Hunk to offer them a spoonful.

Allura pulled Lotor forward, and he easily followed her, raising his aristocratic nose curiously. The batter, which he could smell from a short distance, seemed like a sweet dish, even if he did think it rather looked like mud on the spoons of the paladins.

And here Hunk had been so concerned that he’d once eaten dirt.

“Dish us up, please,” Allura begged Hunk. “It is most important that Lotor experiences this part of your Earth culture.”

“Oh man, I know, right? Chocolate is, like, the food of the gods,” the human said merrily, then offered one spoon to Allura and another to Lotor.

The prince politely accepted despite his reservations and stared at the offering. “Thank you, Hunk.”

Allura had already begun licking her spoon, her pink tongue stretching out demurely as she watched him in delight. She swallowed back a small bit of the batter and gave him a cheery look. “Come on now,” she encouraged him. “Please do try it.”    

He hesitated. And then Lotor tentatively bit down on his spoon, allowing the wet and sticky brownie mix to flood his tongue. He swept the spoon out of his mouth, his yellow sclerae widening as his elfin ears perked up.

 _Oh_ , he thought, instantly understanding the paladins’ addiction.

The concoction was sweet—so very, very sweet and rich and full of flavor…Without thinking, he dared to openly lick the spoon, his long, angled tongue slipping against the metal in a desperate attempt to savor every last morsel. A somewhat wanton noise escaped his throat.

Beside him, Allura’s eyes widened, and her full lips dropped open a fraction at the sight of his tongue and the sound of his voice edging with pleasure.

Attraction? Desire?—dropped hard into her. It was enough that she forgot her own scoop of brownie batter on her spoon in favor of watching him. The fervent knit of his brow as he closed his eyes and licked the spoon made her press her full lips together.

 _Oh dear_ , she thought not for the first time, envious of that spoon.

A sound of pleasure escaped Lotor’s throat again as his long tongue slipped back between his lips, carrying with it the last bit of brownie batter. His cobalt eyes opened, and he looked to the other paladins, his eyes blown wide with the delight of dessert. 

Pidge looked over at Hunk and said, “I think that brownie batter just took his chocolate virginity.”

“I think you’re right, Pidge. No better way to lose it, either.” Hunk looked proud as he wiped a fake tear from his eye. “I’m so proud to have been responsible for this moment.” 

That shook Lotor out of his reverie. His cobalt eyes snapped to them in surprise, his ears flicking. “Did I just hear you say… _chocolate virginity_?”

Pidge pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Yeah, you know. Like, virginity. But with chocolate.”

Lotor gaped at her, disturbed. “You are too young to sexualize things in such a way.” He looked up at Shiro in hopes that the older human could shed some level of sense back on human behavior. “Is she not too young?” 

“Um, I’m fifteen,” she reminded him shortly, giving him a look.

The older paladin just gave him a helpless shrug. “Kids these days, I don’t know.” He licked his spoon. “Just…go with it.”

Allura waved her spoon. “If it helps,” she offered, “I lost my chocolate virginity to a piece of Earth cake?”

He then turned to gape at her as well. This time, his face began to tinge pink as he considered her losing any kind of virginity. His brain broke for a tick or two before he managed to say delicately, “I do not know what Earth cake is. How does losing one’s chocolate virginity to it compare to this…brownie batter?”

It was a borderline flirt, and it left his lips before he could dare to retract it.

Allura smiled prettily. “Well, Earth cake is very, very good as well. Its base is a lighter consistency than that of brownies when baked, and it’s topped with something even sweeter and creamier.”

“That’s icing,” Hunk piped in.

The princess’s eyes widened in recognition and delight. “Yes. Icing. That’s it.”

Lotor hummed, struggling to conjure an image of an Earth cake. He still pictured a wet lump like brownie batter with some kind of goo on top. “I am sure, if you enjoyed it, princess, then it must have been a worthy manner through which to lose your chocolate virginity.”

Allura smiled at him again and giggled. “It was.”

The word _virginity_ slipped from Lotor’s mouth in a soft way every time he spoke it, as if it were a precious, reverent thing despite the scandal of speaking such words aloud.

It made Allura’s heart jump each time. 

But then the merriment upon Lotor’s face flickered away into some kind of apprehension, leaving shadows behind. He stared down at his spoon, which shone bright now without a trace of the brownie batter that had so enamored him.

Allura’s giggle died away into silent concern as she stared at him. “Are you alright?”

The anxiety in his face quickly smoothed over. “I am fine, princess.” He looked up and forced a small smile upon his face, the action stretching his harvesting scars in a way that made him appear still sad. “I am simply…wishing I had not eaten my share so quickly.”

The air about him stung with a polite lie.

She quirked a brow at him and playfully narrowed her eyes. She dared to poke him in the stomach with the clean edge of her spoon. “Why do I not believe you.”

Lotor’s blue eyes widened a fraction in innocence. “Truly, I do enjoy this Earth chocolate.”

Her beautiful face faulted with a deadpan, and she poked him again. “You are evading the truth by providing me with a distractor. Tell me your true reason for looking so sad.” She pouted. “And on such a grand night as this, with good food and an Earth movie.”

He held her gaze for a tick, searching the earnest curiosity in her eyes. “If you must know,” he said to her softly, “I am overwhelmed by the atmosphere within this sanctuary.”

Allura paused at that. “Oh.” She drew her spoon back into her hand, now a little anxious herself. “Are you…bothered by myself and the others?”

“On the contrary.” His voice strained. “I desire nothing more than for this evening to never end. But I fear it shall, because it always does.”

She searched his eyes, her heart pulling for him. She grabbed his free hand, which was warm and limp in her grasp, as if he feared touching her in return. “Do not feel such melancholy,” she said to him, voice softening further. She smiled gently. “The paladins and I—we have many nights like this. Even when this evening ends, know that we will have many more in the future, to which you are most certainly invited.” 

Lotor tentatively grasped her hand back, feeling the lithe lines of her fingers and the soft warmth of her palm, which was only slightly larger than Pidge’s. Then he released her and relented, “Very well, princess. I shall keep that in mind if I feel…melancholy again.”

This time, her smile grew with a genuine delight.

* * *

 

“So,” Lotor murmured later, now fully engaged with the movie and holding a bowl of cooked brownie, waving his fork in the air, “this Mr. Darcy says he finds Miss Bennet barely tolerable, and yet goes out of his way to respectfully engage with her, while this Miss Bennet is also searching for more reasons to dislike him despite her increasing receptiveness to his conversation.”

“Yes,” Hunk confirmed. “You got it.”

“And I assume the plot will move in such a way that said tension continues to increase between the two of them, given the movie cover where they are in fact presenting as lovers?”

“Yep.”

Lotor tilted his head as he munched on a still-warm piece of his brownie square, fresh from the oven. “Fascinating that the crux of the plot lies not within physical events but within psychological ones.” His eyes were bright with interest and delight as he watched the movie and indulged in eating the baked brownie, which was as delicious as it was unbaked. He envied the humans for having grown up with such things. “I now understand the meaning behind the title of Pride and Prejudice. How intriguing, that both avarices should apply to Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy equally, despite initial assumptions.”

Beside him, Allura’s eyes were practically glued to the screen, wide and enamored. The sight made her appear a bit younger and even more innocent. “Yes, Mr. Darcy truly needs to see how perfect a match Lizzie is for him despite her background.”

Lotor slid his eyes to Allura, his brow crinkling. “And perhaps Miss Bennet needs to see Mr. Darcy’s social isolation is the result of paranoia, not the least of which is born from the gossip about him as a desirable prize per his wealth.” 

The princess turned to him, staring at him in surprise. “Are you implying that Mr. Darcy’s snobbery is justified?”

“And are you implying that Miss Bennet is right to so quickly judge him?”

Behind them, Lance pretended to be eating popcorn out of his hand, nudging Pidge with his elbow to break her away from the movie in favor of eavesdropping on Allura and Lotor’s conversation. There was a tension between Allura and Lotor now, with their eyes searching the other.

Nearby, one Keith sighed. “Ugh, they’re just fictional characters. Who cares.”

Allura smiled in a way that made her teeth look predatory. “If I didn’t know any better, Lotor, I’d say you are emotionally invested in the welfare of this…Mr. Darcy.”

He leaned forward. “I could say the same for you regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Her voice dropped into a whisper, a playful smile still on her face. “Do you think they might make each other miserable in a delightful way if they were to fall in love?”

Lotor’s voice softened playfully. “Princess, the movie cover and genre type would suggest that is inevitable.”

Allura’s eyes, for just a tick, slipped from his gaze to slide down to his lips, which were upturned in a merry way that made him very handsome despite his harvesting scars. “Oh,” she pouted, “but is that not a cheat, to assume love is so predetermined? Where is the sense of adventure in that?”

“On the contrary, princess,” he murmured. “The inevitability of attraction can further heighten the experience itself.”

On the couch, both Pidge and Lance looked at each other. Pidge’s face was in a twist as she hesitantly whispered for Lance’s ears alone, “Are they still talking about the movie?”  

“I don’t think so,” Lance whispered back, face just as twisted in shock. And then a dark glimmer of mischief began to glint in his eye. “Hey,” he whined down to Allura and Lotor, “can you two cut it out? You’re making lil’ baby Pidge feel awkward with all your flirting and whatnot—”

Pidge elbowed him hard. “—I’m not a baby,” she hissed, her face flaming up.

Allura and Lotor froze, with the latter in the middle of munching on a bite of his brownie, holding his fork to his mouth and looking surprised. And then Lotor delicately swept the fork from his mouth and swallowed his dessert. He turned a bit to the left, his knee brushing against Allura’s thigh with the movement. His eyes narrowed playfully at Pidge, with whom he felt the most comfortable in sassing. “You speak of chocolate virginity, and yet you dislike a simple analysis about one of your own Earth productions?”  

The human girl pouted hard, her face still in a flush. “Hey, don’t look at me. You two are the ones actually flirting over this show.”

His white brow raised. And then, damnably, a small flush appeared across his cheeks, deepening the red of his scars. “Perhaps humans have a different meaning for the word _flirt_ than the Galra do.”

Coran leaned forward and waved his fork accusingly. “Nice try, Point Five. But it’s the same.” He narrowed his eyes. “And what’s this about you two flirting anyway, hmm?”

Allura’s face was flushed as well as she moved to glare at Coran. “We are _not_ flirting. If I were to flirt with anyone, you would all know it because it would be terribly obvious.”

That made Hunk beside her chuckle. “Yeah, like when you tried to flirt with Blue Lion to make it work? What did you say again? That Blue was activating your _particle barrier_?”

“Hey, Blue likes cheesy pick-up lines,” Lance cut in defensively.

Her eyes narrowed to slits at Hunk. “I was desperate,” she said with a huff. “It’s not like I was trying to write poetry.” 

“Okay, but,” Hunk said, face still lit in a tease, “activating a particle barrier would mean _putting up_ a defense, which kinda…contradicts the whole purpose?”

Keith called out, only mildly less bored, “He’s trying to say you suck at flirting, Allura.”

She turned to the side and dropped her jaw with a scoff of indignancy. “I’ll have you know I can flirt perfectly well. Why, flirting is at least—what did you say, Coran?—five percent of proper diplomacy. In which I am well-trained, thank you very much.”

The older Altean scratched his chin. “Actually, I believe my adjusted equation had flirting as a good ten percent, especially after you once kicked the ambassador from planet Molorg in his fourth shin.” He chuckled fondly. “Oh, you almost started a war that day. But your father was so proud.”

Lotor had turned back to face her and leaned in. “It appears your colleagues are against you, princess.” His voice was merry, as if in delight that the pure and proper Allura had once kicked an ambassador—or that such banter could exist in his presence.

Allura huffed petulantly once again and then stabbed her fork into the remains of her brownie. Her face was still tinged red. “Yes, well, if you could see how the Morlogians flirt, you would have kicked him too.” She stuffed a bite of brownie in her mouth, looking like a scolded child. And then she looked back up at the movie screen and whined. “Oh no. I believe we missed a scene, and now I do not know who this man is with the odd-looking hat! Hunk? Can you rewind it?”

Hunk dutifully raised the remote. “Guys, this as bad as when we watched _Titanic_.”

Shiro cut in. “No, this is still way better. Lance isn’t crying yet.”

“Hey,” Lance whined.

And then suddenly the movie paused once more and began to reverse.

At that time, something else caught Lotor’s attention. His ears flicked, and his sharp eyes suddenly darted to the floor before himself and Allura. He instinctively pushed her hands to the side, and she made a noise of surprise, barely managing to hold onto her brownie bowl as the air before them shimmered with a bright light—and then a large, sniffing wolf, darting for her remaining piece of brownie.

“Oh!” Allura cried, her eyes widening as she quickly pulled the brownie close to her.

Keith jerked up from where he was previously slouched on the couch. “Oh no,” he breathed, then called to them with a strained voice, “Guys, don’t let him eat a brownie, okay? He can’t eat chocolate. Again.” And then he turned to Hunk in the greatest show of emotion Lotor had witnessed yet. “Hunk, did you cover the brownies in the kitchen?”

Hunk gave him a thumbs up. “Way ahead of you, man.”

Keith stared at him for a second, his heart pounding, before he sunk back against the couch, holding his chest. “Oh, good,” he breathed out in relief. “Man, I did not want to wake up to wolf vomit in my bed again. Whew.”  

Allura called back to him, still suspiciously guarding her brownie from the wolf, “Do not fear, Keith! Lotor caught him in time. You will not have to worry about Kosmo getting chocolate this night!” And she narrowed her eyes at the wolf, caught between amusement and irritation.

It made her face twist in a cute way.

Lotor’s eyes were still wide at the shenanigans of the wolf—and at the wolf itself. “You know this beast?”

Lance leaned forward to stretch his arm out and scratch the wolf’s muzzle. The animal’s large, fluffy tail began to wag, and it leaned into the touch. “Yeah, his name’s Kosmo.”

“We don’t actually know that,” Keith cut in.

“…It’s Kosmo,” Lance deadpanned. “He _responds_ to Kosmo.” Then he pulled away and looked at Lotor hesitantly, as if worried that Lotor would not respond well. “He likes stealing food, but he’s pretty safe. He’s one of the team.”

Allura cut in. “He’s Keith’s pet, actually.” Her voice grumbled. “And he gets his fur absolutely everywhere and likes to chase my mice.”

Lotor stared at the space wolf, and it stared back at him, its eyes deep with knowledge. The highlights of its fur seemed to glow within the light from the movie, and everything about the animal seemed soft, despite its healthy physique and a muzzle of razor fangs.

More wildlife.

The wolf surged forward and lightly nudged his bony shoulder, sniffing at his arm. The action made Lotor’s face twist with a strange amusement. “Your pet,” he called out to Keith, “so easily accepts strangers into your company.”

Kosmo lifted up and began to sniff Lotor’s hair, and then his jaw. Lotor tried to lean away, but it was a half-hearted attempt, and so he ended feeling the wolf’s tongue lick up one of his harvesting scars. The action inspired a genuine smile, his emaciated face stretching to reveal his fangs.

“Ah, so you find me satisfactory, then?” Lotor asked it amusedly. He hesitantly held out his hand for Kosmo to sniff before a wet nose bumped against his palm, begging for attention. He conceded easily, lowering his hand to Kosmo’s head and sweeping along the soft, warm fur.

The wolf wagged its tail and then unceremoniously moved to lay on Lotor’s crossed legs, plopping down expectantly for more scratches and pets from the newcomer. In doing so, it made the air wheeze out of Lotor, his eyes widening a fraction at the weight of the animal, one of his knees cracking from the shift.

Allura’s ears flicked at the sound. Her eyes hardened. “Kosmo,” she admonished. “Do not hurt him, by the stars. You’re not a lap animal.”

Lotor waved her off. “No, no. He is fine.” He inhaled, overwhelmed by the soft heat of the animal. He lowered his hand to gently scratch behind Kosmo’s ears in a way that Kova had so often desired. The wolf closed its eyes and leaned into the touch. “He is…endearing.”

And truly he was, for the wolf had lain its head against his thigh and had sighed, perhaps similar to the mice in search of a heat source. Lotor found himself amused that he was once again a coveted object for four-legged creatures. If nothing else, at least he knew he was good for something. 

Allura hesitated. “Well. Just so long as you don’t—oh. Oh no.”

It seemed the wolf was not the only lurking visitor. The scampering of little paws suddenly appeared from one of the hallways. All four of Allura's mice were now steadily sneaking their way toward Lotor as well, sniffing in indignancy at the presence of the wolf and squeaking out their claim on their favorite source of living heat.

Their little bodies caught the light of the movie as they jumped onto the foot rest where Pidge sat, and then tried to reclaim their territory—which was Lotor.

Lotor held still, his eyes widening, as he felt little paws climb onto his shoulders. At the same time, the wolf’s head raised up, and its lips curled into a snarl at the mice.

Fearing that he would become the sight of a battleground, Lotor quickly placed his hand on Kosmo’s head. “Do not growl at them,” he murmured, voice firm. “They are defenseless, and you are obviously well-fed.”

Kosmo huffed and grumbled, his tail tightening against him in displeasure.

Chulatt, the baby mouse, slid down Lotor’s long arm to tentatively step upon the wolf’s back, cuddling down into a tiny ball in want of the heat.

Allura’s jaw dropped when the wolf did nothing but huff again and petulantly bump Lotor’s hand for more scratches.

Two of the mice remained perched on Lotor’s shoulder while the blue one, Plachu, dared to spring off into Allura’s lap for space. Allura easily accepted the mouse, petting its small head with her finger, before staring at Lotor in concern. “Are you alright like this? My apologies, I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

“—I believe,” Lotor murmured, cutting her off with a consternated humor, “they still find my Galran blood useful for their aims.”

And so the animals remained piled around Lotor as the movie played on.

* * *

 

But the prince, for as much as he enjoyed the increasing romantic tension between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, struggled to keep his eyes open. His full stomach, coupled with the warmth from the animals and the pleasant banter between the paladins, was lulling him into desperately needed rest.

 _Sleep_ , his body demanded. _Safe now. Sleep while we can._

_Safety will not last._

His eyes drooped as he blinked several times, watching the human man plead desperately with the woman about his somewhat insulting marriage proposal. _“—I have fought against my better judgment, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth by rank and circumstance. All these things I am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony—”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“I love you.”_

He felt his eyes close shut just as Lance began to sniffle behind him.

“Oh, _guys_ ,” Lance cried softly. “The space dust—” He began to sniffle harder. “It’s really bad in here.” He waved his hand in front of his face to dry his tears, rapidly blinking his eyes. And it was then that the lead actress began to reject her emotionally distraught Mr. Darcy, and Lance began to cry genuinely, his heart cracking. “Is the movie blurry? Or is it just me? Guys?”

“It’s just you,” Pidge deadpanned.

Keith leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the screen. “I think I actually see his heart breaking.” His lips stretched. “Cool.”

“Who, the movie guy or Lance?” Shiro asked, a white brow raised.

“Both,” Keith teased.

“No, the screen is most certainly blurry,” Coran declared, his voice watery. He looked to his left where Hunk was sitting, and he grabbed onto the long edge of Hunk’s head tie and dabbed his eyes with it. Then he let it fall back to Hunk’s shoulder, bearing a large wet stain.

The yellow paladin looked down at it for a time, then looked back up to Coran. “…Seriously, dude? You got some eye goo going on, and I can see it on me now.”

 _“Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?”_ argued the human man on the screen, voice pained.

“Guys,” Lance cried, grabbing onto Pidge’s arm. “They’re breaking up.”  

Allura was watching the screen with wide, tense eyes. Her fingers were clenched hard into the material of her skirt as her mouse slumbered away in the crook of her elbow. “B-but,” she said incredulously, “is this not a romance movie? Are they not supposed to get together?” She turned to Hunk with watery eyes. “Oh, is this somehow another tragedy? Please tell me that no one dies.”  

“I promise no one dies,” Hunk said. “Just trust me, okay?”

The human woman cried on the screen, _“—made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”_

“This doesn’t look good,” Romelle whispered in pain, wringing her hands, then moving to bite her nails.

_“…Forgive me, madam, for taking up so much of your time.”_

And it was around then that Allura suddenly felt a warm presence leaning against her shoulder.

All of her thoughts and worries about the movie suddenly halted to a sharp stop. 

“Oh,” she whispered, her elfin ears flicking back as her eyes widened. “Um.” She went very still, her dark face lighting up with a blush. "Um." 

In his exhaustion, Lotor had slumped to the side, his breath evening out in deep sleep, worn face slack. His emaciated cheek leaned hard against her, the whole of his skeletal body bent toward her. He breathed in her scent and exhaled softly. His breath was a puff of warm air that slipped through the material of her sleeve to light up her skin with heat.

Pidge leaned forward at that. “What the cheese,” she whispered, pushing up her glasses in surprise. “Did he fall asleep? In all this chaos?”

Allura did not dare to move. “I—I believe so,” she stuttered in surprise—and awe.

Lotor’s large hands were limp upon the space wolf slumbering away in his lap, with the three mice still nestled between him and the wolf. Thick, soft locks of his hair had slipped along his cheek.

Hunk sighed and paused the movie again. “Guys,” he whined.

The princess slid her eyes to him, narrowing them. “What am I supposed to do?” she whispered, somewhat frantic. “Lotor's asleep.”

“You serious? He fell asleep during this most amazing movie of all time?” The yellow paladin leaned forward, eyes widening. “Oh, wow. Yeah, he’s _out of it_.”  

From behind, Lance was still brushing away tears. “How do you fall asleep during this movie?” he cried incredulously.

“Or while Lance is blubbering?” Keith offered, somewhat impressed as well. “That’s a serious accomplishment.”

Lance turned to Keith, his watery eyes hardening. He pointed at his tear-streaked face. “These are tears of empathy, Keith. I am having an emotional reaction. You should try it sometime.”

At that, Shiro sat up a bit straighter on the couch, setting a hand on Lance’s shoulder in a gentle warning. “Easy there, tiger.” And then he turned to Keith with a knowing, teasing glance. “And you, stop instigating just because you had to watch a romance movie. Which is a good one, by the way, and you know it.”

The younger black paladin narrowed his eyes and then grumped, crossing his arms. “All we ever watch are romance movies,” he grumbled. Then his dark eyes slid to the sleeping prince on the floor, leaning on Allura. “Maybe Lotor’s got the right idea.”

“You want to fall asleep on the princess?” Shiro deadpanned playfully.

Keith huffed, and then sputtered in an odd way. “No—I mean—” His face oddly flushed. “Just…falling asleep.”

“Guys,” Pidge whispered to them all, waving her hand at the slumbering Lotor. “With the wolf and the mice, I think he looks like a Disney princess?” She started swiping through her holographic wristwatch to the camera function to capture the moment. "Keep the movie paused. I gotta get this on camera." 

Lance sniffed, still wiping his eyes. “Which princess?”

“Whichever one talks to animals,” the human girl said distractedly as she leaned on the foot rest to snap a silent picture.

“…They all talk to animals, Pidge.”

“Okay, okay—it’s like Sleeping Beauty meets Rapunzel.” She then reviewed her photos, looking satisfied at the image of Lotor sleeping away on a panicked Allura’s shoulder. “This is classic. I can’t wait to see what he does he realizes he fell asleep on Allura.”

“Team,” Shiro called softly. “Maybe we should just let, uh, Sleeping Rapunzel sleep.” He eyed Pidge. “And not take blackmail pictures.”

“It’s not blackmail,” she argued lightly. “It’s cute. I mean, look at him.”

From the other end of the couch, one hesitant Romelle dared to look his way, twisting her nervous hands into her blond pigtail. Her eyes caught Allura’s flustered gaze first, and then she slid her gaze to the sleeping Lotor.

It was the most vulnerable she had seen him since he had been lying blind and ill on the infirmary bed. Perhaps, in ways, Romelle found herself even more surprised now. Lotor was not one to willingly let down his guard.

And yet here he was, lost hard in sleep, oblivious to the environment around him.

She bit her lip.

It was the first real sign that this Lotor _trusted_ them—not just Princess Allura, whom he favored most even subconsciously in sleep, but everyone in the room. He trusted them not to attack while he was defenseless. 

And he looked so peaceful in that moment. A fragile, glass doll.

It made Romelle’s heart twist in a strange way.

Allura tried to shift herself a bit, whispering up to the others, “Well, it’s a rather unorthodox way to watch a movie, but um, I really would like to see if Lizzie and Mr. Darcy get together in the end? Can we continue the movie?”

Hunk raised a brow. “You wanna keep going without Lotor?”  

She smiled with a weak humor. “I can think of at least two people here who would watch the end again with Lotor when he wakes up, myself being one of them and Lance being the other.”

“Totally,” Lance seconded, voice still watery. “Blue paladins and chick flicks are like bacon and eggs. Blue would be disappointed if I didn't represent. Oh man, maybe we should get a live stream so Blue can watch too." He tapped his chin. "I don't think Red would like it, though. But we can offer." 

Allura’s toes twitched in anticipation in her slippers. “Either way, I really do not think I could survive to morning to find out if this Mr. Darcy and Lizzie can resolve their differences." 

Hunk then turned to the rest of them. “Guys? Any objections?”

Lance sniffled again, “No, this good. I can get my tears out so I don’t cry tomorrow morning in front of—what did you call him again, Coran? Point Five?”

“Ten GAC you’ll still cry tomorrow,” Coran sniffled, grabbing onto Hunk’s head tie again to blow his nose into the material. “But yes, Point Five.”

“…Eh, I think I liked Sweaty One with a Bun better,” Lance mourned. “And I’ll take that bet. I totally won’t cry tomorrow. I’ll cry all my tears tonight.”

And so the paladins soon enough returned to watching their movie, with Allura shifting slightly to better cradle Lotor’s head against the soft of her shoulder, settling into the odd position as his pillar of support as he dreamed, his long fingers occasionally twitching with sleep as the wolf and the mice slumbered in his lap.

And as Allura watched the rest of the movie, she hesitantly leaned her cheek against the top of Lotor’s head, allowing herself to breathe in his comforting scent and to feel his Galran heat. A warmth stretched over her whole body, and her full lips stretched in merriment at the scent of Lance’s shampoo in his hair.

It hit her that breathing in Lotor’s scent, leaning her cheek against him—these were small indulgences. Little flickers of hope in her cracked heart, that despite all the pain they had both endured, such moments were still possible.

_“We were meant to be together,” the clone of Lotor had pleaded with her, his beautiful voice rushed and fervent. “My feelings for you are true. I know you have feelings for me as well.”_

Allura’s white brows knitted together.

This Lotor, who had been imprisoned for nine-thousand years and tortured and scarred in ways she could not hope to understand, did not need a romantic interest. He needed a friend—an unmovable pillar of support.

But Allura could not fight the familiar flutter in her stomach at his open trust in her and her team (how far they had come!), and at the pleasant feeling of his body against hers.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, as the paladins watched their movie in the safety of Olkarion’s headquarters, a silent hyperspace sensor tripped in the the farthest reaches of the galaxy.

And then another tripped.

And then another one.

A large Galran fleet, bearing the banner of Empress Pro Tem Honerva, stormed by in the vacuum of space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all. Sorry for the long hiatus. I’ve had a rough time on tumblr—a critical discussion about one of my stories devolved into multi-platform personal attacks about me as a person. It required me to delete that story and pull away from my original tumblr, to separate myself emotionally from the hate directed toward me. Please note, if you feel triggered or concerned by any content I write (or the tags I use) and want to contact me about that, I will listen to your concerns. I am inspired by positive feedback, but I also want to pay attention to genuine concerns or constructive criticism so that I can correct the issue. I do not claim to be “woke," haha. But the harassing insults and ad hominem attacks nearly put me in an ER and made me relapse into a very self-destructive behavior from which I’m still recovering. I’m hoping to avoid that in the future. 
> 
> For now, I am continuing Second Law and Adrenaline Rush because many of you contacted me to say these stories represented positive meaning in your life. Thank you. Please know I received your messages, and I wrote this chapter for you. I hope you found this chapter worthwhile. 
> 
> If you’re still interested in following me on tumblr, [you can find me again here](https://the-lightning-strikes-again.tumblr.com/). I want to keep an open community with you all because I’ve enjoyed that so much since I started writing Voltron. I hope that we can continue to thrive together in exploring the joys and angst of Lotura. 
> 
> All that said, I may have rushed this chapter to get it out, haha, but I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review! Thanks!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following awesome people for reviewing last time: Longpig, Carol_Pau, UltraFirelily, Veronica, anything_past_or_present, EtherealPrince, Shorthairedme, hallowhead, mutedtempest, SpinningGround, GabsSherri, TiffanyBlue, that_emo_kid_in_the_corner, PetulantPanda, sophiebystarlight, garbage_dono, Nagisa94, Teehee, AfroditeOhki, NickyADon, Angela, Touched, DestiniesEntwined, Dasha, StarrBryte, VeronikaR, Lady Experiment, LordMortem, Miss_Lily, Discordia_s_Novelist, ahyeon, reyechan, KairaB, Amanda, Tsuyu Ryu, Little Sarafina, Pen, ukellyle, katicab, barbitone, Rosenthorne, KokoaKirkland, Ammaviel, COCO_HIMECHAN, ccdancer2003, Kaytoko, Blah, pinkychan, Cherryqueem, etienne18, lucyrne, analyticamethyst, EV_Oleander, Qwennie_simon, Hiccstridlover14, lehbarnes, notEriX, GrapeIcies, and Durolin. I appreciate your support and all of your kind words and questions, so much! 
> 
> You can read individual review replies on my tumblr [here](https://the-lightning-strikes-again.tumblr.com/post/182974707784/the-second-law-chapter-10-review-replies)!.

By the end of the movie, Lance had leaned forward, holding a tissue that Pidge had procured for him. He was sniffling. “What the cheese, guys,” he cried softly. “That was so beautiful.”

“It was kinda weird,” Keith deadpanned. “Who says, ‘incandescently happy?’” He waved to the screen. “I mean, come on. No one talks that way.”  

Lance turned to his teammate and pouted. “Let me enjoy the fantasy, Keith. Some of us like happiness.”

“Lame,” he called out in boredom.

“Oh, you two,” one Princess Allura complained lightly. “Must we have disagreements at the end of every show?” On the ground before the couch, she still sat with her head leaning against the sleeping Lotor.

The alien prince’s steady breath puffed against her shoulder, his worn face slack with dreams. Kosmo had fallen fully asleep on his lap, along with the mice cradled around his fur. Their little bodies raised and lowered with deep, quick breaths and the occasional, dream-triggered squeak.

Shiro’s voice was a soft, fond bell over them all. “What’s a movie night without someone disagreeing.”

As the paladins squabbled, Allura realized that she had a crick in her neck from leaning sideways for so long—and likely Lotor would as well. She sighed, then gently twisted herself forward, cradling his neck backward to lean against the couch. His silken tresses slipped against her wrist as she guided him. He made a grump of a noise, his face twitching with the effort.

His eyelids cracked open, the glow of his narrow, yellow sclerae highlighted by the movie screen, like a predator caught in the light.

Then he tiredly closed his eyes once more, settling against the couch’s cushion, openly baring his vulnerable neck to Allura. The woman’s eyes widened in shock as she stared at his elegant lines and the thin, blue veins of his body that ran alongside his harvesting scars. Allura knew it was against Galran culture to bare one’s neck to an enemy—to anyone but family. Or to lovers. She could see the pulse in his neck.

Allura swallowed hard, watching the flyaways of Lotor’s hair slip down his shoulders, his broad chest expanding and contracting with easy breath. “Um,” she whispered. She turned to her fellow paladins. “Perhaps, he could sleep here tonight?”

Lance leaned forward, the top of Lotor’s head now brushing against his knee. “What the cheese, is he really still out?”

“Yes, Lance. He is quite tired.”

To the side, one sleepy Pidge raised her head from the couch footrest. She blearily raised a finger and dared to poke Lotor’s gaunt cheek. The alien man’s face scrunched briefly, but then he relaxed back into sleep. “Maybe he’s got the right idea, you know? Like, what time is it?”

Lance waggled his eyebrows. “Time for you to get a watch.”

The human girl rolled her eyes and raised up her wrist, which glimmering with her watch. “Doesn’t tell Olkari time.”

Shiro’s soft voice echoed in the room over the music of the movie’s end credits. “We probably all ought to get to bed.”

One the other side of Hunk, one Coran was still wiping tears from his eyes. “How can I go to sleep,” he cried softly, “knowing that a man who looks like he could be my son got married to the beautiful and kind Jane?” He grabbed onto a napkin and blew into it hard. “I’m so happy.”

Romelle was sniffling beside him and patting Coran’s back. “Do not cry so, Coran. Mr. Bingley had a happy ending, and that is quite the occasion for drying your tears and celebrating.”

Coran blew his nose again. “It’s just the sort of happy ending I want for Princess Allura,” he sobbed. “A dashing and rich man to sweep her off her feet, the world all bright and cheery—”

But at that moment, the princess was lightly fretting over a skeleton of a disowned prince. She turned to Coran with a light bounce of curls, her pretty face lifting into a smile. “I want nothing more than peace for the universe,” she said softly. Then she giggled. “But I would not mind a Mr. Bingley or Mr. Darcy to go along with that.”

“Mr. Bingley for certain,” Romelle offered. “He is much more fun, even if he is not so rich.”

Pidge cut in then with a yawn. “It’s not like they’re real. They can’t even read binary code.”

Allura turned back to Lotor, movements still merry. “Yes well. Be that as it may, codes or no, we should all get to sleep,” she murmured. “Keith, Lance, Shiro—we do not yet have a room for Lotor yet, but I’d feel terrible making him walk all the way back to that infirmary.”

Shiro caught her meaning. “Of course, princess.” He lightly pushed at Keith and Lance, encouraging them to start moving too. “Maybe one of us should stay behind.”

“Certainly, Shiro. I was thinking the same.” And then she turned to Lance, batting her big, innocent eyes. “Lance, would you?”

Lance nearly stumbled over Pidge, who squawked at him for accidently nudging her. “What? You want me to watch him?”

“Oh, please, Lance. Just in case he needs help.”

The boy huffed in surprise. “I mean, can’t Shiro watch him again? Or you?”

Allura gave him a playful look, eyes glinting. “Shiro has already guarded him, and I am still quite tired from healing him. I believe in the spirit of, um, ‘taking shifts,’ it is your turn to help us in protecting those who need our help.”

Lance gave her a pained look. It was one thing to feign normalcy within a group. But to be alone with Lotor? “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she challenged lightly.

The boy pressed his lips together, looking away. “…I don’t know,” he whined. He lowered his voice for her ears alone and whispered in panic, “What if he wakes up, and I have to talk to him by myself?”

Allura laughed softly. “Oh, what a terrifying prospect for a paladin of Voltron. I am sure you will work it out.”

And soon enough, the paladins began to clear out from the room, with Shiro and Allura helping a sleepy Lotor up onto the couch, pulling a blanket over him. The prince was only half-aware of the way his bony arms and legs sunk into the cushions of the couch, his belly full of hearty food and ears buzzing with the soft voices of the paladins. He collapsed immediately against the couch, accepting the feeling of the blanket offered over his body and the softening of the lights that strained against his eyes.

This was safe. He was safe.

Soon enough, he fell deep into dreams, Kosmo jumping onto the couch to lay beside him, along with the mice, who readjusted around his body.

He barely heard the echo of a sigh from Paladin Lance. “Well, I guess it’s just you and me now.” And then there was the rustling as the boy curled up on a couch by the fireplace, now gone cold. “You took all the good blankets, by the way. This one smells like Kosmo.”

* * *

As time passed, the many moons shining above Olkarion darkened, and the stars dimmed. Within the headquarters, Lotor’s sleeping brow ticked, and a soft noise of discomfort escaped him, muffled by the pillow beneath his head.

His fingernails sharpened into claws as he slept, the tips slicing into the soft fabric of the couch.

His dreams afforded him no rest.

 “ _—son_ ,” came a smooth, female voice in the back of his mind. It wavered. “ _—son. Lotor_.”

Lotor found himself standing in total darkness, his eyes wide. His breath hitched as he turned around, narrowing his eyes.

“ _My son_ …”

His voice raised in suspicion, his elfin ears flicking back at the garbled words. “Who is there?”

From out of the darkness appeared a glowing woman who seemed both familiar and entirely alien. She boasted healthy, dark skin and the slim lines of an Altean, with white hair similar to his own. Her eyes shone gold like a sun. Her clothing was Altean as well—she wore a sharp, armored headdress that mimicked those worn by ancient sages, her tunic carrying royal colors.

Lotor’s breath caught hard in his chest.

She looked almost, but not quite, like the long-destroyed holograms of his Altean mother, Honerva.

The woman stepped closer to him, arms outstretched. Her voice was even and emotionless. “My son, come to your mother.”

But as she neared closer, the details of her face came into view. And then he saw it—the distorted Altean marks that ran like blood from the edges of her eyes to the corners of her wide mouth.

Lotor’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he backstepped. His claws extended in fright. “The witch,” he hissed.  The darkness suddenly felt oppressive. The abyss upon which he stood was suddenly an oblivion that dared to swallow him whole. He could feel it now, the witch’s energy, swarming around him like a mist. His blue eyes hardened. “You dare to steal the face of my mother? To corrupt it for the sake of your illusions?”

The woman’s head tilted, her beautiful tresses falling down her shoulders. “I stand before you now, perfected by ancient powers. I am no illusion, Lotor. I remember all that I was. And I know all that we can be, together.”  

His face twisted, and he backstepped again. “What madness,” he hissed beneath his breath, now turning to search the black. His voice roughened. “You have finally lost it, to attempt this ploy.”

The patience faltered within her expression. “Child,” she admonished him, “I have fought for millennia to return to you. Do you not recognize me?”

That inspired a great well of anger within him. He turned back to her, baring a fang in his snarl, his eyes glowing dangerously in the dim light. “I know the stripes upon your face and the masters you serve. You are an abomination, a corruption of what was once so pure and beautiful. Take off your façade. I cannot stand it.”

The woman’s face shadowed darkly, her golden eyes glinting. “You dare to call me an abomination?” Her dark fingertips glowed with light. “I fought for you. I shared with you my immortality. _I nursed you_.”

His fist clenched. “You are not my mother,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You did not defy your masters when you bound me in chains. I suspect your masters are speaking through you right now—for what purpose, I know not.

Her beautiful face twisted. “Their power is my power,” she agreed slowly. “But when I recalled my name, I fought to return to you fully.” She raised a glowing hand to her chest. “Honerva’s heart still beats within me.”

“Then why do I not hear it,” he challenged.

“Perhaps your ears are dull, my son.” Her own elfin ear flicked as her thin lips stretched without humor. “A weakness of your Galran blood.”

“On the contrary. Perhaps they are hard of hearing from nine-thousand years of imprisonment,” he hissed. “You dare to stand before me and demand affection, as if I should be grateful for anything you have done to ruin my life.”

“I am your mother now. I am her memories. Her impulses. We are family.”

“You speak to _me_ of family?” he called raggedly, narrowing his eyes to slits. “Tell me, you rift creature, how intensely do my mother’s memories haunt you? Are they why you strive to reclaim me so desperately, after tossing me away?”

Her head tilted. “Those memories are my own now,” she said, her voice straining. “But I was not always…in control. Whatever I did as the witch Haggar, it was to keep you useful in a time when you were turning against us. It was for your own good.”

Lotor swallowed hard. He blinked, tears of rage overwhelming him. “ _For my own good_?” he echoed. “You—you carved your displeasure into me. You consumed my energy and chained me in your lab. I would repeat the full list of grievances, but I have been trying to forget it myself. If only I were as lucky as you, to stand here so ignorant.”

“Lotor—”                                                                                                                             

“—You left me to die in a harvester,” he snarled. “How can you in any way feel entitled to a position as my savior?” 

The beautiful woman’s eye twitched. “I have come to reclaim you despite your general defiance of the ones who sustain immortality. You should know I have risked much in your name, to rescind their decision to end your life. You are my son, and I am your mother.”

He felt a cold chill down his spine. He backstepped again. “You are not Honerva of Altea in any way.” His breath hitched. “You pledge allegiance to demons. You do not have a beating heart.”

She opened her arms once more. “Return to me,” she commanded, her eyes lit with a righteous fire. “And I may yet save you from every force against you. I will grant your deepest desires, to explore the universe unhindered by any empire. Free of the responsibilities of a prince. I will tell you the deep secrets of our people. And we will live forever, together as family.” 

Lotor snarled at her fully, baring his teeth. In that moment, something terribly demonic overcame him, darkening his eyes. “No,” he snapped.

Her arms wavered in that moment, her fingers trembling. “I will never offer you this again,” she warned, her voice darkening. “If you do not accept me now, I will end your life and bestow favor upon another I may yet call my son, who lies in wait for me.”

The man’s fingertips glowed purple as he seethed, tears of fury burning his eyes at the sight of the woman with her arms open for him. “You deceive only yourself, witch. No one would desire the title as your son.” His emaciated chest fluttered in desperation for breath. “I can sense the darkness in you. I know what you are. I will always know.”

That did it. Her gold eyes lit with an unquenchable anger, and she dropped her hands, her clawed fingertips his own. Her eyes flashed.

“Very well,” she snarled at him. “I will snuff your life. For I have only one son who truly bears my legacy. And you are not _him_.”

* * *

                                                                          

Lotor felt something shake him and pat his face. He woke up gasping, tears in his eyes, with one panicked Paladin Lance leaning over him in fright.

“Hey, man, come on, wake up,” the boy begged, looking frantic and terrified. “What the cheese.” He was still patting Lotor’s face lightly. “Come on, please snap out of this.”

On instinct, Lotor flexed his claws, intending to slice his attacker before him, the image of the distorted witch overlaying upon the boy. But then he blinked, feeling disoriented as the black abyss gave way to the rich vines and golden walls of the Olkari headquarters.

He blinked up at Lance, his eyes watery in confusion.

And then the broken prince gently swatted the boy’s hand away. He sat up unsteadily, his blanket falling from his emaciated body. He planted his long fingers hard into the cushion of the couch, and the tips of his fingers began to glow. In his disorientation, Lotor desperately released a pulse of quintessence.

From across the room, one Kosmo suddenly whined and flinched, looking down at the floor in a spin. The mice clinging to Kosmo’s back scattered, scampering around in fearful squeaks.

The pulse was otherwise silent, slinking into the foundations of the building and the ground beneath it in a flash of purple. Lotor quickly mapped the vibrations that returned to him, closing his eyes, using his quintessence field to sense and construct an image of his surroundings.

Couch. Paladin. Window. Dirt.

He was not in a dream controlled by the witch, nor on a Galran ship.

It was still real. It was all still real.

He was on Planet Olkarion.

In the midst of Lotor’s desperate attempt to grasp reality, Lance had backed away, his skin goose-bumping and eyes widening at the sight of the distraught prince, whose hands and sclerae glowed with deep purple quintessence. “Oh man, Okay. Um. You’re doing something.”  Lance swallowed hard, frenzied. “Shiro is so much better at making things, uh, better.” His face twisted. “Please don’t freak out. You don’t have to do the glowy stuff, whatever it is. Because we’re totally safe here. Okay?”

The broken prince inhaled shakily, Lance’s tight voice grounding him in the present. He suddenly leaned harder upon his hand, his sclerae returning to their usual yellow, the glow fading from him with a great exhaustion. “Paladin Lance,” he rasped. He knitted his white brows, his harvesting scars pulling oddly. “I—” He swallowed hard, as if in awe of how little control he still had over himself. Over reality. “I apologize. I know not what I have done.”  

The boy had taken another step back, flanked by a frightened Kosmo and four mice. “You, uh, you started crying out in your sleep.”

“Did I?” Lotor could recall only the image of a distorted Honerva with her arms stretched out, beckoning him to her.

“Uh, yeah. It looked like you were thinking of a final exam, meets Godzilla, meets the smell of dirty socks.” Lance was animatedly waving his hands to present the image, eyes wide. “Dude, I’ve never seen anything like it.” His voice softened. “I didn’t know it was this bad for you. Like, wow.”

Wild eyes looked up to Lance, at a loss for words. Lotor’s mind felt shaken, as if something had plucked at the strings and torn several in doing so.  “Forgive me,” he said roughly. He looked down at the couch, blinking away odd tears from his nightmarish encounter. “I do not know what a Godzilla is, but I understand exams. I do quite feel as if I have been…tested.”

 _And that you failed_ , came a conspiratorial whisper in his mind.

His strength left him, and his hand was suddenly sliding off the couch from the cold sweat of his palms, unable to hold up his body—

Lance caught him, awkwardly holding onto his arm and helping him to sit back. “Hey, it’s okay.” The boy’s voice strained to be light, frazzled as he was. His muscles flexed hard to assist Lotor, who despite his frail appearance bore the hard bones of the Galra. Allura made helping him look so easy, as if he were a feather. “It’s—ah—it’s just a dream.”

The prince gripped hard onto Lance’s arm as he inhaled unsteadily, closing his eyes. The boy’s scent was of air and sand. It reminded him of the sounds of the beach from Shiro’s music player, which reminded him of grounding once more.

Lance somewhat nervously patted his back in an attempt at comfort, overwhelmed by the shaken man, but he recoiled at the feeling of sharp bone and ribs beneath the Olkari robe. His breath hitched then, swallowing hard. “Oh man.”

The hair on the nape of his neck raised up at the signs of emaciation and the tell-tale outline of scars.

Lotor exhaled shakily, blinking several times. He eventually pulled away from the boy, who was obviously skittish and uncomfortable. “Forgive me.” His voice broke even as he pulled away, forcing a prideful line in his spine. He blinked several times and then rubbed one tired, watering eye.

His claws glinted lazily in the moon pouring in from the window.

The image left Lance in a hesitant freeze—that Lotor was not like his little nieces and nephews with nightmares, but was instead a nightmare being himself. A man who had shot at his team and made Princess Allura cry, and yet…

The hair on the nape of Lance’s neck raised up at the wicked scar he had felt beneath Lotor’s shirt.

“I apologize again.” Lotor’s voice was rough in tension. “I was…greatly disturbed by a nightmare and am still feeling its effects.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” Lance groaned. “My heart’s pounding, and, like, I had an anxiety attack trying to wake you up because you wouldn’t for a second, and I just—” he ran a frazzled hand through his hair. “Man, I’m definitely not getting back to sleep. You want a milkshake? Because I need a milkshake. Like, I really, really need one right now.”

“…A milkshake?”

“Like a drink.”

Lotor’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “…A fermented beverage for the purpose of inebriation?”

Lance’s face scrunched for a second as he struggled to translate the prince’s question. And then his eyes lit in recognition before he crossed his arms. “I mean, I _wish_. But I’m too young for that. Plus, this tastes much better.” He laughed nervously. “Or I think it does. Not that, uh, I’ve had any of the other or would know _at all_ what it tastes like—”

Lotor’s ears flicked with the telltale sounds of a lie. He gave the boy an enduring, patient look as he listened to the babble, tempted to tell him that lying was quite the pointless endeavor.

“—milkshakes are much better, like rich and creamy and make your stomach feel all calm. Unless you’re lactose intolerant. You wouldn’t be lactose intolerant, would you?” And Lance stared at him before snapping his fingers. “No, you wouldn’t be because the soup had a bunch of milk in it, and you had like, three bowls.” The red paladin pumped his fist. “My deduction skills are amazing. Yes. Milkshakes it is.”

Lotor quirked a brow, his pounding heart slowly calming in the presence of Lance, whose personality was as light and airy as his scent. He dared to twitch his lips. “And what exactly is a milkshake? Must one shake it while drinking?”

The stressed lines on Lance’s face were smoothing back into a usual glint of mischief. “I’m so tempted to say yes. But no.” He hesitated for a tick before he held out his hand. “Come on, I’ve got some milk in the fridge. It’s not a far walk to the kitchen.”

Lotor paused, staring at the boy’s hand before he reached out and grabbed on, desperate for a distraction from his lingering nightmare. “Are milkshakes a cuisine approved by Hunk?”

“Oh, dude. They’re approved by everybody. Except for maybe Allura and Coran. They think milkshakes are weird.”

“Why is that, Paladin Lance?”

The boy hesitated. “The milk part of a milkshake comes from an animal.”

Trailing after him was the tall, wraith-like shadow of Lotor, whose claws staggered the bony outline of his body into something even sharper. “That does not seem so strange.”

“I know, right?”

* * *

 

Soon, the fallen prince of the Galran empire found himself sitting on a stool, his elbows leaning on a kitchen counter. His face was still worn hard with exhaustion and stress, but his eyes narrowed with more and more in curiosity as he watched the paladin Lance work to make them both milkshakes.

The culture of humans, down to even their mannerisms, fascinated him. Here was the right hand of Voltron—the same position held as the legendary King Alfor of Altea—lowering himself to the status of a servant, and yet so content to do so, out of some joy of sharing culture.

Lance was even humming to himself as he swirled whipped cream on top of the large glass.

Lotor’s deep voice echoed off the kitchen walls with a hesitance. “Will you tell me more about the animal from which this…drink derives?”

Lance turned to the prince and said happily, “So cows are kinda big, furry, four-legged animals from Earth. Female cows produce a lot of milk for their young, and they get cranky if the milk builds up too much inside them. A long time ago, some human got the idea to try some of the stuff and found out it was pretty good. We’ve got whole cuisines based on it. Our cow, Kaltenecker, must’ve had a baby before the space mall alien picked her up, because she makes a lot milk.”

Lotor paused. “You mean to say…this is partially the fluids of a lactating female animal?”

The boy paused for a second, before saying slowly, “…Yes?”

“And this is standard human cuisine?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Some cultures, you know, they use other animals. But same concept.”

There was a beat of a pause, in which Lance suddenly expected Lotor to grow green and grab for his stomach, or otherwise slip off his seat and make the same noises of horror that Allura and Coran had.

The boy’s joy began to fall from his face, and a sudden blip of self-consciousness slipped into him, all of his hard work now likely to go to waste.

But then, of all things, Lotor’s lips split wide with a smile. A merry huff escaped him. “Ah, now I understand why Princess Allura and her advisor were incensed by your offer.” He leaned his cheek in his emaciated hand, his eyes glimmering with a simple humor. “These…milkshakes are quite the taboo.”

Lance’s brown eyebrows furrowed as he leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“In Altean culture, one simply does not drink the lactation fluids of an animal—that is preserved for only suckling infants.” Lotor tilted his head. “It is most peculiar that grown humans would so casually accept nutrition from the teat of an animal.”

The boy’s face flushed. “You calling me an infant?”

The fallen prince smiled, and the last vestiges of his nightmare wore away, his face still lit with a delighted and somewhat mischievous smile. “Well. To one as old as myself, I suppose you _are_ an infant.”

Lance sputtered in a mix of indignancy and shock. “Did you just...make a joke?”

The man looked down at the milkshake before him, eyeing the thick consistency and the picturesque lines of the whipped cream on top. “I am not incapable of it,” he murmured. He delicately raised his nose and sniffed. 

The sweet, creamy scent of the milkshake made his mouth water in want for it. Despite its taboo nature, the prince found himself licking his fangs. Humans had perhaps the best grasp on cuisine he had ever witnessed prior to his imprisonment. If they believed these…milkshakes were truly delicious, then milkshakes were at least worth trying once. The scent itself was on the border of divine.  

Lance lightly pushed the milkshake glass over to him. He quirked a brow, his own mischievous self flaring to life at the sight of the prince’s stare of want. His lips stretched. “Okay, so maybe Alteans think it’s weird. But… _you know you wanna try it_.”

Lotor tapped his fingers on the counter in debate. His claws had retracted subconsciously while in the presence of the boy. “I have seen stranger cuisines, truly.” Then a glint of resolution appeared in his calculating eyes, and he turned to Lance. “But perhaps…we should not speak of this to the princess.”   

Lance grabbed for his own milkshake. Some kind of triumph overcame him at the thought that Lotor would ask him to keep a secret on his behalf. Had he done that with the other paladins? Did this mean they were bonding? He airily waved the glass, his brown eyes lit with mischief. “Don’t want Allura to think you’re an infant too, or what?”

There the paladins went, mentioning Princess Allura so informally. The man’s head tilted. “I would not want to portray myself as irreverent of Altean traditions, or of yours. Especially after you have labored to provide me a coveted treat.”

The boy waggled his brows. “Between you and me, even Allura said milkshakes were ‘positively divine.’”

Lotor’s eyes widened, and a quirk appeared in his expression. “…You said earlier she found them odd.”

“Oh, yeah.” Lance sipped on his straw and then smacked his lips in a sigh, as if he were drinking hard alcohol. “I mean, she freaked out after she realized what it was.” He raised a knowing brow. “But before that, man, she was _hooked_.”

Lotor’s large hand wrapped around the glass. “I have the distinct inclination that humans are fond of encouraging mischief.”  

“…It’s what we do,” Lance sniffed casually, raising his nose in the air with great pride. “Totally worth it, every time.”

The prince’s eyes glimmered with a merriness at the boy, his fangs shining in the light openly, having forgotten what he was in that moment. The paladin Lance was very much a little sprite, who likely pulled the team into many shenanigans. “I look forward, Paladin Lance, to hearing your stories of mischief. I assume you have many.”

“Oh, so many.”

Lotor leaned down then, eyeing the milkshake once more before delicately taking the straw in his mouth.

The instant the cool, creamy milkshake slipped over his tongue, his cobalt eyes widened in a child-like awe. His emaciated cheeks sunk in further in an attempt to suck in as much of the milkshake as possible through his straw, slurping it down in unmitigated delight. He bit his fangs into the straw to create more openings through which to receive more of the taboo cuisine.

Lance paused from sipping his own milkshake to stare, jaw dropping. It seemed Lotor had the same ability as Allura and Coran to suck down a full glass and not experience a brain freeze. “You, uh, even tasting it there, buddy?”

A noise escaped the prince’s throat—one of great satisfaction as he pulled away from his straw. His hungry stomach clenched in want for another, his tongue and throat delightfully cool, as if he had crunched on a handful of mountain snow on Planet Feyiv. “This is a most delicious drink, Paladin Lance.” He hesitated for a time before he lifted his straw and then began to delicately gnaw its end.

Lance smiled brightly. “Hey, thanks! But, uh, for the record—the straw isn’t edible.”

The prince blinked, then set it down. “Are you quite certain? It tastes of the milkshake as well.”

“It’s plastic.” The boy’s face twisted, and then he scratched his chin, slightly disturbed. He had sudden images of Lotor back in the infirmary, with an x-ray of a straw caught in his stomach and Allura staring at them both in disbelief and irritation. “But I guess if you eat bone, maybe it doesn’t matter. I don’t know. I wouldn’t chance it.”

Lotor, who did not believe in wasting any morsel of food, began to use his straw to scrape the remaining whipped cream off the sides of his glass. “Very well, Paladin Lance. To ease your mind, I will not eat of the plastic.” 

The boy breathed out a sigh of relief, still watching the prince in a curious twist of awe. “I still can’t believe you eat bone.”

Lotor raised a brow. “You cannot?”

“Nah, man. That’d totally rip up my insides.”

Intelligent, blue eyes focused upon the younger man, paying close attention to the somewhat bird-like lightness of his features. The fragility of the human form. “Galran bones resurface at very quick rate, which affords us healing advantages—it is therefore helpful to ingest concentrated sources of the minerals in bone. An evolutionary adaptation, I suppose.” The prince paused, his brows knitting together. “Though I must say, this drink is particularly satisfying to me.” His stomach felt full in a relieved way, as if he had obtained something he was desperately missing.

Perhaps the milk from the mother cow was not such a bad supplement to his diet. But his handsome face flushed as he considered having to hide his increasing interest in cow milk from Princess Allura.

Lance scratched his chin. “Hmm. You know, this might explain why Keith drinks a whole gallon at one time. Since he’s half-Galran like you.”

By that point, Lotor was already craving another glass, pressing his lips together and eyeing Lance’s milkshake. His voice strained lightly. “Do you…have more milk of the cow?”

The boy eyed him. “Oh no,” he deadpanned in a joke. “Not you too.”

“I could offer something in return,” Lotor said, his body aching in want for the minerals. His brows knitted. “Information, perhaps.”

“Hmm.” Lance’s eyes slid sideways to eye the remains of the pure milk in the chilled pitcher. “Okay, you got a deal. You want another milkshake or the straight milk?”

The concept of choice was something that still left the prince in a fumble. He bit his lip with a shining white fang. “I should…like to try it straight, please.”

More nutrients that way.

Lance pulled up a second, clean glass, tossing a dishtowel over his shoulder as if he were a bartender. “You got it, man.” He grabbed for the pitcher of milk and began to pour him a glass. The precious, cooled liquid sloshed into the glass.

Lotor watched, pressing his lips together, his Galran instincts riling up as his fanged mouth watered once more.

The boy slid the glass down with a particular expertise, then leaned against the counter. He quirked a brow. “So,” he said. “About my information.” He leaned in, narrowing his eyes playfully. “I wanna know about you and Princess Allura.”

The prince blinked at him. His hand hesitated on the new glass of milk.

“You guys flirt, you’re all touchy and stuff.” Lance searched his eyes, hoping to measure up this strange version of the Galran prince. “What’s your angle with her, anyway?”

“My angle?” Lotor’s eyebrows flew up mildly.

“You want something from her?” Lance demanded lightly, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that made him seem aged. “You just using her to heal, or what?”

Long, calloused fingers tightened upon the milkshake glass. “You think I have ulterior designs upon the princess?”

“I gotta ask, dude.”

Lotor looked down at the cup before him. “Of all things,” he said, voice strained, “I did not expect an interrogation from you, on this subject.”  

The boy blinked. And then he whined. “Oh, come on. I’m just worried about Allura. I really care about her, and you guys are so…buddy-buddy all of a sudden.”

The prince searched his eyes, as if measuring his intentions. “Buddy-buddy?”

“Yeah, you know. Whispering things and flirting during movies and eating off each other’s plates and stuff.” The boy pursed his lips tightly.

“…We were not flirting,” the prince said, voice strained. “I believe Coran has a different definition than—”

“—Dude, it’s flirting.”

Lotor’s eyes, wide and expressive with innocence, suddenly narrowed in thought. “You must be mistaken. The princess would not genuinely flirt with one such as myself.” His large hand tightened more intentionally upon the glass of milk, and he raised it to his lips, sipping of the thick and creamy liquid. He set a half-full glass back down on the counter. “I have nothing to offer her.”

Lance hummed, scratching his chin. “It’s true, you do look a little rough around the edges, and you’re not really a prince anymore.”

Lotor gave him a flat look. “…Precisely.”

“But you still flirt back.”

Lotor looked up and retorted lightly, "I thought such patterns of speech were indicative of friendship, given how she teases all of you." 

The boy fell silent, and then he bit his lip. His face flushed a little in guilt. “I just…don’t want you to hurt her.”

The prince fell silent, and then he said, “I am aware of the many sacrifices Princess Allura has made on my behalf. Please know, Paladin Lance, I intend to repay her as soon as I am able.” His face tightened. “I will help end my father’s reign of terror, once and for all.”

Lance nearly squeaked, awkwardly trying to laugh. “Yeah, she’d like that. We, uh, all would.”  

Lotor’s eyes narrowed upon him, but he said nothing.

Lance cleared his throat. “Okay, so um next question—about your glowy quintessence powers. You made your hands and your eyes go purple earlier.” He was desperately struggling for a topic of conversation. “What were you doing?”

The prince looked away, grimacing. “I constructed an image through various refractions from vibrating the quantum particles of the quintessence field.”

The boy scratched his head, and Lotor recalled then that Paladin Lance was not a scientist.

“Do you guys just put quantum in front of everything?” the boy deadpanned. “Because for real, I have no idea what you just said.”

Lotor gave him a look. “I mapped the building,” he clarified, voice flattening a bit.  

The boy blinked, then his brows furrowed together. “Mapped it—vibrations—wait, you mean like a bat? Like sonar?”

“Wave vibrations, yes.” Lotor quirked a brow. “Though I do not know what a bat is, and it is not quite sonar, for there is no sound involved.”

Lance paused again, his mind slowly catching up, before his boyish face lit with a smile of delight. “What? Silent sonar? For real?” He leaned forward, sputtering. “No way! How?”

The prince hesitated for a time before he said, “Vibrations construct the whole of the universe. During my…imprisonment, I sought to anticipate the witch’s return to me, and to learn my relative location. I realized quintessence could be manipulated in ways other than how the witch used it.” His face tightened. “It is simply a pulse of my own quintessence.”

Lance tapped his own temple. “Do you make a picture, up here?”

“It is a muted visual image, yes. Like a memory from a dream.” He swallowed hard, suddenly thinking of himself lying on a cold floor in the witch’s lab, his scarred, dirty fingers planting against the metal, sending a soft pulse. The sensation had been one of flight—that he was drifting helplessly in the void of space, within a command ship that he himself had once engineered for his father.  No one ever walked down his hall, save for the witch herself.

He still felt the creeping darkness of the witch’s magic upon the door, and how the runes sometimes left him in a confusion—with a great pull to forget about himself and all that he had once been as he lay on the floor.

The boy snapped him out of his thoughts, leaning in forward more. “So how far does it go?” he wondered, like a curious child. “Does it keep going forever? Like, what’s your range, man?”

Lotor gave him a light grimace. “I have not tested its range.” He lowered his gaze to the counter, tentatively planting his hand against the smooth construction, which was cool beneath his emaciated fingers. “I have not…had the energy to do so.”

Lance hummed—but before he could think or say anything more, Lotor’s eyes bloomed back into a glowing purple, his long fingers sparking with energy. Lance’s eyes widened as the hair on the nape of his neck raised. “Oh, what? You’re doing this now—?”

Lotor’s face twitched as he drew forth a small tendril of his own quintessence and snapped it out.

The pulse stormed through the counter into the floor and exploded in a thousand directions, slamming back into him with a mapping of the full of the kitchen, the rooms beyond…The ripples slipped through crevices beyond the headquarters, leeching along the depths of the dirt.

From the other room, Kosmo whined in complaint again at the strange disturbance.

But Lotor could finally _see_.

Tree roots. Bushes—the vibrations of the golden ratio reflected in every nook and cranny of the natural world of Olkarion—

—And then the vibrations slammed up against a large tree and three coffins buried within its great roots.

Lotor’s eyes flew open as the vibrations mapped out an image his own body, decayed, three times. The power deadened as it hit the bodies, which were a void of quintessence. His breath hitched as he looked wildly to Lance, who was still watching him curiously, innocently.

The glow disappeared from Lotor’s eyes and hands as he cut himself away from the now-quieting vibrations. The prince swallowed hard, a creeping disquiet striking deep in his bones, haunted by the vision in his mind. “The range is,” he said roughly, “more extensive than I thought.” His mind still flickered with the unsettling shadows of Galran claws, rotting flesh, his own white hair—

He blinked away the images, his fragile mind snapping shut on them to suggest it was a figment of his imagination. The three graves did not exist, and there were not three bodies buried in the earth, with his own features.

He cleared his throat and suddenly said, “I felt the Voltron lions, in the courtyard.” It was a safe answer and truthful as well. The beasts had reverberated with a great strength back to him, silent in the night.

The black lion—his father’s one true desire—stood within reach for the first time in Lotor’s life.

It was a strange feeling.

Almost as strange as feeling the spaces of the three graves—

Lance’s eyes widened. “You can feel out that far? No way!” He leaned forward in a boyish excitement. “Did you feel Blue? Did you see her? How about Red?”

Lotor managed something of a weak smile. “For being the paladin of the red lion, you exhibit many odd attachments to the blue one.”

Lance bit his lip at that. “Well, I mean, yeah. She was my first lion, before Shiro…uh, left the team.” He scratched the back of his head. “I mean, even if Allura has her now. She’s really special.”

“I have heard that these lions speak to their paladins. Tell me, is this rumor true?”

The boy nodded. “Oh, yeah. Red’s a little more silent, but Blue talked all the time. Kind of like little nudges in your head. Words here and there.”

His long claws tightened again on the milkshake glass.

“ _My son_ —”

His fragile mind twisted hard in memory of his nightmare, and then the disturbing image of three buried bodies, and his breath hitched. “Are they—are they kind? Or do they demand from you what they need to function?”

The younger boy put his chin in his hands, eyeing the prince in concern. “Blue and Red are like, my buddies, you know? It’s a bond.” He pressed his lips together. “One time, I was feeling really down, because I was missing my family. Anyway, Red felt that and sent a signal back to my mom on Earth, so she called me using the satellite at the—”

The distraction was not working.

Lotor felt an impending claustrophobia overcome him as he desperately attempted to focus on the boy’s innocent babbles.

“ _My son_ —”

Three bodies—

* * *

 

On the other side of the headquarters, one Pidge was sleeping heavily, cuddled in her blankets with her hair a poof hanging over her sheets. Her glasses lay on her laptop, the charging light blinking.

And then suddenly, there came a high-pitched, insistent beep—a request for a video call.

Pidge groaned and huddled deeper beneath the sheets.

_Beep…beep…beep…beepbeepbeepbeep—_

“—Ngh, okay, okay,” she moaned sleepily, throwing off her blankets in a tired huff.

Pidge sat up, blearily adjusting the collar of her shirt before she answered the video call, pulling on her glasses. The ID on her laptop flashed with _GALAXY GARRISON – SAMUEL HOLT_. “…Dad?” she said, voice cracked with sleep.

“ _Katie_.”

The desperate, fearful sound of his voice made her tense, a cold water storming down her spine. “Hey, what’s wrong?”  

Her father stood in the midst of chaos—soldiers and pilots fluttering behind him, grabbing weapons off the walls. He looked as though he had been running, his breath halted. “ _We need Voltron. Our sensors—our radar_ —” His voice was tight. “ _Katie, Earth is under imminent attack_.”

“…What?”

“ _Our deep-space sensors logged a massive wave of unidentified spacecraft headed this way from Mars. They warped in so fast—we might only have minutes—_ ”

She grabbed onto the laptop screen, eyes wide. “How many? Who are they?”

She saw the pure fear in her father’s eyes as he whispered, voice tight, “ _We managed to capture a satellite image. They are Galran ships. Please, Katie. We have nowhere near the firepower to fight off an advanced army. We need Voltron_.”

* * *

 

Down the hall, Keith groaned in his sleep as a beeping noise and a bright light emitted from a Blades communicator. Fumbling fingers raised up to the bedside table to grab the black and purple device. The screen read with a code signifying Kolivan’s name.

“Kolivan?”

“ _Keith_.” The man’s voice was breathless. There was a surge of wind. “ _We received a communication_ —” the frequency jammed— “ _reason to believe_ —”

Keith’s dark brows furrowed as the hair on the back of his neck raised with danger. He sat up in bed, the sheets slipping from his form to pool at his waist. He ran a frazzled hand through his hair. “ _Kolivan, you’re cutting out. Can you—what are you saying?_ ”

The Blades’ voice hardened. “ _Our source inside—witch’s ring confirmed a signal sent to—First Colony and several high-profile commands in—Galran army. They—mobilizing, with a trajectory_ —”

“Wait, what’s mobilized? What about the First Colony?”

“— _masked signal, deceiving us to_ —”

It was at that time, he received an incoming call from Ryner on his second communicator.

“— _Keith_ ,” called the stressed Olkari. “ _Our sentries just confirmed we have an incoming Galran army on the horizon of our galaxy. They’re warping in fast_.”

Keith was jumping up, pulling on his shirt and stumbling into pants, his eyes wide. “Uh, right.”

“ _We need Voltron immediately_ ,” she declared, her voice thrumming alongside the ongoing static of Kolivan’s. “ _I am contacting our militias and the rebel army to join your side. Our defense systems are charging up and will be fully online in six dobashes_.”

Overwhelmed, Keith looked back and forth between the two communicators as he pulled on his armor.

His breath hitched. “Time to sound the alarms.”

* * *

 

 Princess Allura tossed in her bed, her chest heaving uneasily as the bedsheets twisted hard around her legs. Beneath her eyelids, her eyes surged back and right. Her dark fingers clenched, then unclenched. “Ngh.” The soft alto of her voice tightened with words unspoken in her throat.

All of the night’s previous joy had worn hard away from her face, her pleasant dreams of flowers and Earth Victorian dances darkening into the vision of a strange Altean woman. Battleships.

“N-no—”

Allura’s neck turned, and the moonlight from the window caught the beads of sweat upon her brow, her white hair sticking to the sides of her face. 

There was a deepening of the black in her mind. The burgeoning storm of corrupted quintessence unsettled her soul.

And then the shutters to her window slammed open.

Allura startled awake with a gasp. Her hair flew back in a great shift of wind, and she pulled herself up, heart pounding. “What in the—heavens—?”

She stared, watery eyes wide at the open window, which had once been locked. The shutters hit hard against the wooden trim. It was a fretful banging noise. The wind tugged at her tresses, as if insistently demanding she get up.

Between the threads of her nightmare and the strange wind, Allura felt shaken. Her fingers trembled as she planted her hand on the bed, clenching into the bedsheets. “You were locked,” she whispered to the window. “I know you were.”

Her gaze stared at the open field before her, where the Tree of Life stood tall in the distance, its limbs stretching toward the heavens. Leaves flew along in the wind from the three graves to rest at the foot of her window.

As she fought to steady her breath, the wind caressed her face, drying the tears that dared to slip down her cheeks.

Her pink armor slid in the wind, toward her.

Allura’s skin goose-bumped as she suddenly felt it. The single, disjointed thread of a quintessence field, which reminded her of…

“…Lotor?”

Her heart stopped as she leaned forward on her bed.

It was just as she began to reach for her armor that the alarms sounded.

* * *

 

Back in the kitchen, Lotor flinched at the blare of the alarms, his elfin ears flicking back as his face tensed. The sound so startled him that his claws speared into the kitchen counter. He rose up in preparation for the attack, his claws taking with them various chunks of the counter.  

Lance had startled as well, and he looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide. “Oh man,” he whispered. His voice tightened. “Oh man. We’re under attack.”

Over the intercoms came Ryner’s voice: “ _Paladins of the Voltron, to the courtyards immediately. Paladins of Voltron, to the courtyards. This is not a drill._ ”

The boy looked over at Lotor, and then quickly grabbed onto his hand, dragging him forward. “Come on, we gotta go!”

The prince made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he reached out for the glass of remaining milk, tightening his hand around it before Lance could fully drag him away. He was not about to let it go to waste, even in a battle. The two of them dashed out the kitchen door as Lotor tilted back the glass, allowing himself to be carried along with Lance. He gulped down the remains of the milk. Then he wildly stared about for a ledge before he set the empty glass in the middle of a yellow flower arrangement, his claws ripping a few of the petals as they zipped by.

Lance was still babbling at him. “—Gotta grab my uniform back in my room, should only take a second. And my bayard too. Then we’ll go to the courtyard, and oh man, I don’t know—maybe we’ll need to keep you with one of us, or—”

Lotor stopped paying attention, his sensitive nose catching the scent of Princess Allura. His slit eyes widened upon realizing they were passing by her personal room. He could smell the scent of fresh air, as if she had opened a window.

He goose-bumped then, a cold slithering feeling storming down his spine. The hair on the nape of his neck raised up.

He could feel a thread of quintessence, disjointed and broken, hanging upon the air.

Three bodies—

Lance yanked him sideways, and they both disappeared into his room. Lotor remained in a frazzled daze as he distantly watched the boy grab onto his armor and bayard. Lance’s room was a somewhat messy, small configuration, with bedsheets tossed in an array—but upon the walls hung photo after photo of various humans that looked similar to Lance. On another wall were photos he’d taken of himself with the paladins.

Lotor had never seen such a collage of familial love and friendship.

But as his sharp eyes flickered over the photos, he caught an image that left his throat tight. In the background of an image of a smiling Hunk and Pidge was his own visage. The photo had caught only an arm and his hand, but Lotor knew himself. He knew that armor, which bore the colors of his cat, Kova.

Lotor back-stepped, his eyes widening in horror as he stared down at his emaciated hand, then to the boy who knew more than he let on.

“Okay, got it!” Oblivious, Lance grabbed onto him again and began to drag him out to the courtyards, his arms flailing with his armored suit and bayard.  

The prince’s mind churned with a nausea as he allowed himself to follow the boy once more. Perhaps he had imagined it. Perhaps he had not.

Perhaps this was all still an illusion.

The Olkari hallway soon opened up into large double-doors, and then to the great courtyard where the other paladins stood.

Once Princess Allura held her helmet in her hands, her eyes wide as she turned to them. “There you are,” she breathed in relief, roving a worried gaze over Lance, then Lotor. “We have incoming Galran battleships, projected to arrive at our atmosphere in four dobashes.”

Pidge stood with tears in her eyes as she peered up at the sky. “We have to get back to Earth. My dad—mom—”

Lance was desperately pulling on his helmet while still locking into his armor. His fingers were shaking with adrenaline. “Oh, man. Okay, this is for real. We gotta focus, guys.”

“We need to get to our lions,” Allura commanded, still searching for Keith and Shiro with a stressed line storming down her brow. “We must—form Voltron and head them off so that we can wormhole to Earth afterward.” Her breath hitched in foreboding.

Lance’s brows furrowed in increasing panic. “Wait, what about Earth?”

“Pidge received a call from her father,” Allura breathed. “It has an army heading its way as well.”

Off to the side, one wide-eyed Coran stood, holding a radar device up to the sky. “Yep, it’s a Galran army coming here alright,” he confirmed, voice raising up with a nervous laugh. “Uh—about ninety battleships. No big deal for Voltron. Just a late-night snack. Or some early morning exercise—I’m not actually sure which is more accurate.”  

Romelle peaked over his shoulder with big, frightened eyes. “Those look like scary ships.”

“We’re not alone,” Allura reminded him, her voice raising up. “We have the rebel army and the Olkari militias as well.” Her eyes landed on the haunted vision of the fallen prince. “Lotor, go with Coran and Romelle immediately to the below-ground command centers, where the Olkari can hide you away. There are escape pods as well if necessary.”

His voice strained, his eyes wild. “Princess, I—”

“—Where’s Shiro? And Keith?” Lance demanded.

“—Coming this way!” came a yell from Hunk as he flew out the doors, his headband flaring behind him, the sleep from his eyes wearing away hard. “Oh man, guys. I’m so glad I made sweet potato soup and not some sugar-high dinner. Anyone feeling the vitamins kick in? Or is that just my heart pounding, because wow—”

“—It’s just your heart pounding,” cut in a new, breathless voice, deadpanning in his usual way. Keith appeared from the doors, and behind him Shiro. “But we’ve faced the Galran army before, and we can do it again.”  

In the meanwhile, Coran reached out to Lotor, beckoning both him and Romelle back inside to safety, his face tightening with increasing panic. “Come on, now—time to get back inside and down to the shelters, we’ve got no time to lose! And they’re going to need our help!”  

Lotor made a strangled noise in the back of his throat but otherwise did not fight the insistent pushes of the Altean. Romelle was already running for the door in a fret, her blonde pigtails streaming behind her. Strong though she was, she knew she was no match for the impending warfare.

“Our help?” she echoed to Coran in a fearful curiosity. “How can I help?” She flickered her eyes over to the stiff, tense Lotor. “Or…um, how can we?” 

“Why, the Olkari emergency medical teams, of course. They’ll need all the assistance they can get with tending to injured soldiers. Romelle, we can put that strength of yours to good use. Lotor, maybe you can hold the towels and bandages with those arm sticks of yours.”

“Arm sticks?” the prince echoed, his brows raising up in increasing consternation and frustration. “I will have you know that I am not—"

Coran shoved him forward lightly, his orange mustache in a frazzle. “—Come on now, Point Five. Romelle. To the shelters!”

As Coran disappeared inside with his two charges, Shiro was holding up a communicator, his face tense as he spoke with Sam Holt. “Voltron is not able to warp out. I repeat, Voltron is not able to warp. Olkarion is under attack as well. You’ll need to employ your protype defense systems until we can get there. You said earlier you were testing an Altean particle barrier, based off the blueprints from the Castle of Lions?”

Sam’s voice was stressed. “ _Yes, and it stood successfully against controlled nuclear blasts, and all of Princess Allura’s tests. But to expand such a barrier over the Earth, we would still need to launch and manually activate several more satellites_.”

Shiro’s voice was breathless as he tightened the fastenings for his Olkari bionic arm. “You’ll have to try. We know this barrier technology can hold up against most Galran weapons, including their ion cannons. My guess is, they won’t be expecting much of a fight from Earth, since we’re still considered primitive to them.”

The father exhaled hard. “ _Yes, but our MFE ships are still in prototype stage, and their pilots…they’re just kids, barely trained. The weapons for the IGF-Atlas are entirely untested. The satellites—some are still in pieces_.”

“No time like the present, Sam.” Shiro’s face was grim as his bionic arm began to glow green, his long, metal fingers clenching together. “I know you’ve been working day and night on this technology. I’d trust your second-gen prototypes. Can you replace the kids with more seasoned pilots?”

“ _I’m afraid not. These MFE Fighters—they’re not like other ships. Ever since Princess Allura imbued them with her Altean magic, they’ve not turned on for any other pilot. It’s like…the ships are alive, somehow. They have temperaments. They respond only to the kids who first started them up_.”

Shiro cursed under his breath. “Sounds familiar. You mean for Rizavi, Griffin—that group of kids?”

“ _Yes, those are the ones_.”

He swallowed hard. “Are they willing to pilot the MFEs in a war zone?”

“ _They’re willing_.” Sam’s voice broke. “ _Seventeen years old and willing_.”

More war. More child soldiers.

“Then we have to back them as best as we can. They’re your best shot. Have them use stealth mode—you engineered those ships with Pidge’s stealth tech, right? Use the main fighter jets and the _Atlas_ to distract the Galra while your MFE Fighters activate the satellites undetected.” Shiro bit his lip. “That should protect them some.”

“… _We can do that, yes_.”

“Have the Galrans already begun firing?”

Sam hesitated. “ _Not yet. That’s the thing—there are at least fifty Galran battleships between us and the moon. They’re staying within orbit but not attacking yet_.”

Shiro stared at his team, his mind racing. Then his voice softened. “…They’re waiting on a command.”

Allura was listening in on the conversation. Her brows furrowed. “Which means Earth is not the primary target.” Her breath hitched. “It is an intimidation tactic. A threat.”

Shiro fell silent for a tick before the man murmured, “Because we have something they want.”

* * *

 

Across all the screens and reverberating through the Olkari sky came a hologram of a familiar Galran soldier.

Sendak.

The holograms flickered with his frightful image. “Paladins of Voltron,” came the dark, thunderous tone of the soldier. “And all other filth submitting to Voltron’s regime. This is Commander Sendak of the Galra Empire. I speak the will of Empress Pro Tem and High Priestess, Honerva, who has heard of your grave treachery against the previous emperor. You entered into a sacred alliance and betrayed us by murdering him. It is known that you seek to deceive us with an unholy puppet disguised as the once-emperor Lotor as well. Relinquish your lions and this false-emperor to us. If you refuse, then we will decimate Olkarion for your continued warfare against the empire, and we will lay waste to your precious Earth for your personal treachery against Emperor Lotor. You have ten dobashes to make a decision before we open fire.”

The paladins and the citizens of Olkarion stood frozen in silence of the ultimatum.

The whole of the planet seemed to grow still in the wake of the great army encompassing it. The ticks began to blur by.

Lance was the first to break the silence. “Well,” he said, voice raising up in a weak attempt at humor. “I can guess that we’re not gonna give in, but uh…anyone have ideas? And who gets to tell mister fluffy ears that we’re not buying his mean juice? How the cheese do these kinds of hailings work, anyway? I don’t think we have a projector big enough to do what he did.”

Allura’s voice strained through with a hitched breath. “The darkness surrounding them…I can feel her. The witch who calls herself empress—she is near, in one of the command ships.”

Hunk wrung his hands together. “Uh, okay, guys. Idea. So this Honerva lady is the one calling the shots, right? So, cut the head off the snake, the body dies. Can we do that and skip the whole _intergalactic warfare_ part?”

“She will not be easy to kill,” Allura warned, her eyes dark with stress. “Her power has increased significantly, and she is well-barricaded behind the army itself.” She turned back to the fading hologram of Sendak projected on the sky. “I believe Sendak would continue pursuit regardless of her death, anyway.”

“Well, yeah. But she’s not the legit ruler, right?” Hunk’s voice tightened. “We’ve got Lotor. He’s the rightful emperor. What if we put him back on the throne, had him admit that the witch was keeping him prisoner? He could shut down the loyal ships. And maybe we’d just have like, one ship to worry about instead of a hundred.”

Allura paused. And then her face tightened in pain. “That will not work for several reasons. They believe our Lotor to be a puppet, and we promised Lotor himself we would protect him as a refugee.”

Keith cut in. “Yeah, and the guy’s not so different from his clone. He admitted to Allura that he wants a New Altean Empire and to destroy the Galra. I don’t want to repeat having to kill him if he gets on the throne and goes crazy again.”

Hunk stepped up. “But I mean, this version of Lotor’s cool. Like, he enjoys brownies and movies. He’s got a capacity for good. Totally unlike his clone. We convince the Galran army that he’s the real one, and most of them will back down.”

“Everyone has a capacity for good,” Allura whispered, “just as they have the capacity for great evil. I am with Keith. It is not a good idea to raise Lotor to a position of power, with how conflicted he is.”

And at that, suddenly Allura began to feel an uneasy sense through her—as if Lotor were still nearby. A voice crackled into her frequency from her suit. “ _Princess?_ ” came Coran’s panicked tone. “ _Princess, I have some bad news. Point Five is a bit more slippery than I thought. I can’t find him anywhere. He’s gone!_ ”

“What?” Her face twisted in confusion. “Coran, he was just with you. And he is very tall—how could you possibly miss him?”

Eight dobashes left.

“ _He was following me one second, and then he just vanished! Like an Altean Ulliat on the prowl!_ ”

Before she could respond, Allura’s elfin ear flicked with the sound of sudden movement. She turned her head to see, her eyes wide, Lotor materializing from the darkness of the Olkari trees.

His handsome face was tight in horror as his hand slipped away from the tree, his Altean magic slipping back into him as the disguise of bark and leaf patterns wore away from his skin and clothes.

Allura’s jaw dropped.

Hunk squeaked. “Oh man.”

Lotor’s voice roughened into a sharp keen. “So you don’t have to _repeat killing him_?” His slit eyes narrowed in great betrayal and pain, his harvesting scars wrinkling hard upon his skin.

For a tick or two, the clearing remained silent.

Lotor’s voice broke. “You do not want to put me _back_ on the throne—meaning that I _am_ in fact the true emperor, given that the witch calls herself Pro Tem.” His fist clenched. “Three clones of myself lie buried in this dirt, and I suspect there were more. But one was emperor. And you did not stop to think that perhaps such information would be important to share?”

“Lotor, I—”

His voice raised in a hysterical fright of anger. “How convenient that you would neglect to explain you have—that Voltron has killed s-some version of myself.” He swallowed hard, backing away. “Did you kill all three of them? Am I to be next if I disobey you?”

Seven dobashes left.

Allura’s voice broke. “Lotor, please. It is a very long story—”

“—I imagine it is.” His voice hardened. He backstepped as his face cracked, breath hitching. “I am a pawn to you. All the—the healings and the food and the entertainment. Distractions as to your true designs for me. You like me so long as I am under your thumb. A pet.” 

Allura stepped forward, reaching out to him. “Lotor—”

His large hand planted onto a nearby tree, eyes narrowing. His fingers glowed purple as suddenly he communicated with the nanocellulose in a flurry of binary code, constructing an interface crown upon his forehead, an exact replica of what Pidge had briefly shown him in his illness.

Pidge’s lips dropped open in shock.

The wood hardened to twisted steel upon Lotor’s temple, glimmering dark in the moonlight.

“No,” the prince whispered shakily. There was a great betrayal in him as he stared at the paladins of Voltron. “Do not come any closer to me.” A blaster began to materialize in his hands from the bent branches of the tree.

The princess cried, her eyes wild, “Lotor, we do _not_ have time for this. You are in danger, as are Olkarion and Earth—billions of people. Surely you can see that we are trying to protect you, just as we said we would.” Her mind stuttered in panic, trying to understand how he even knew of the clones, much less that he had just expressed the most intricate manipulation of Altean physiological transformations she had ever seen. No Altean could take on the camouflage of nature so extensively. “We will….we’ll tell you everything you want to know, just as promised. But right now, you need to get back inside.”

His face cracked hard with an unusual twitch in his face. “I will not obey your order. You desired to keep me ignorant.” His eyes brightened with tears—of fury and disbelief. “To keep me a pet, when I was in fact an emperor.” 

“Lotor,” Allura called desperately, reaching out to him.

The prince raised the Olkari blaster to Allura’s heart, the interface crown upon his forehead shining dark in the moonlight. Suddenly, Lance activated his bayard, and Keith raised up his as well, while Pidge and Hunk stood in a stunned silence.

Six dobashes left.

Lotor’s beautiful voice roughened. “My father must be dead, and the witch reigns in my place. _You knew some version of me before now_. This changes everything.” His eyes were wild, his mind replaying the image of three bodies buried beside the watery roots of the Tree of Life, his arm and hand in Lance’s photograph— “What is your true design with me, Princess of Altea?”

Allura’s face tightened with pain. “To stop intergalactic suffering, like what will soon befall us.” Her eyes watered in tears. “If not as friends, then as allies at least.”

“Is it true, the accusation that Voltron ended the life of my copy who was emperor?”

The princess nodded stiffly. “We had no choice,” she whispered. “He was corrupted by the witch, and he did terrible things. So many terrible things.”

Lotor’s handsome face twisted into a snarl of frustration and increasing confusion. Her honesty, and the deep conflict upon her face inspired his hesitance. He lowered his blaster. “I do not know if I can trust your account.” He swallowed hard. “But you are an enemy of the witch, at least. That will…have to be enough for now.”

“Get back inside, Lotor.” Allura’s voice wavered.

His alien, slit eyes narrowed. His pale face—the harvesting scars like a glimmer on his skin—flushed with great emotion. A vein appeared on his forehead as he knitted his white brows. “No. I will not stand by for slaughter at the hands of the witch, or by your own. You will allow me to leave this courtyard, and you will not pursue me.”

Her brows knitted together in disbelief. “What…what in the stars will you do? You are hardly capable of combat, much less—”

“—I have a throne to reclaim,” he hissed. His eyes briefly turned to Hunk, who stared back wide-eyed. “The witch will not command armies in my place, nor will she slander me as _a puppet_.” His breath hitched. He was not a puppet. He was not a slave—

He could not be these things any longer—

Five dobashes left.

Shiro stepped in then. “Whatever you think’s happened in the past, do you believe Olkarion and Earth should pay?” he demanded, his gold eyes narrowing. “Do you condone the slaughter of billions of innocent civilians?”

The fallen prince turned to Shiro, his jaw setting. “I will not see the Galra annihilate another civilization.” There was an overwhelmed emotion in him. “Even if I do not know you, surely you do not think me like _my father_.”   

Behind them, Hunk murmured weakly to Pidge, “Oh man, I don’t know how to make this better. I hate fights.”

Keith decided then to lower his own weapon with a sigh, pulling out his Blades communicator. Lance swallowed hard as he lowered his bayard-configured blaster as well. His fingers trembled a bit as they slid from the trigger.

Allura stared at Lotor, noticing the hardening of his face and the way the contentment had disappeared from his eyes to reveal something cold and unsettled. She swallowed hard, seeing his predatorial, Galran instincts for the first time since he had accidentally slit her cheek. Perhaps some part of her had wanted him to remain the docile refugee of Voltron, who had moaned in want of brownie, and indulged Pidge’s love of technology, and flirted over a human movie.

This man before her bordered too close to the man who had nearly killed them all in the quintessence field.

The similarity left her breathless.

Four dobashes left.

She stepped forward again. “If you do not wish to be protected as a refugee, then so be it. If we—” her throat tightened in fear—“if we can get you back on the throne, how would you convince them of your true nature? And do we have your word, that you would command the armies to disengage from this planet and Earth?”

Lotor’s eyes snapped to her. His gaze was cold and suspicious, despite the line of pain in his lips. There was a longing with him, even then. “I know how to prove who I am.” His voice was rough. “But I cannot guarantee the full of the army will bow to me. Sendak despised me, even before my…imprisonment.”

Allura grimaced as she asked again, “But you are willing to try?”

Three dobashes left.

He pressed his lips together tightly, and he nodded. His clawed hand clenched around the hilt of the designed blaster. His fingers were trembling in the slightest of fears, as his nightmares had all come true once more. “The witch desires to recapture me. I believe,” he confessed, thinking of his strange dream, “she might have awakened memories of who she once was. But I will not see innocents suffer for the sins of my family. Re-establishing my rightful reign should be enough to send her into hiding at least.”  

If there was one thing he knew about the witch, it was that she would not stick around to be caught or killed.

It was then that Keith cut in, his voice raising. “Guys, I just got a message from the Blades. They have some people infiltrated on the main command ships.” His gray eyes leveled to Lotor. “They might be able to help us sneak you in. We could distract the fleet while the rebel army works to obtain a Galran ship for you to re-enter the main command bridge in disguise.”

Lotor’s eyes turned back to Allura. “And what guarantee do I have that you will not turn on me at a critical point?” He tilted his head, face in a grim bind. “You after all said I was unfit for the throne.”

“Because you _are_ unfit.” Allura’s voice strained. “You despise your own people—that is not an appropriate mindset for a ruler. Surely you know even the Galra have innocent families.” She hesitated. “But if you…genuinely wish to stop this battle today, I will support you. On the condition that you not act against Galran citizens.”  

She saw it then—the scared boy inside, puffing up his chest to appear more intimidating than he was. His scarred face twisted, with a first thread of hesitance. With loss. His skeletal form looked fragile in the moonlight despite the sharp crown above his brow, glimmering with the power of Olkarion.

Princess Allura’s pleas for his own people were a jolt to his system.

His voice wavered, in want to believe that Allura was still who she said she was. “You would beg on their behalf, when their armies circle above to destroy us?”

“I protect all innocent life,” she retorted, brows furrowing. “Even innocent Galrans.”

The emaciated prince’s face broke. “And this Emperor Lotor, whose blood is on your hands? Was he not innocent?”

“No.” Her voice softened. “He did terrible things under the witch’s control. When this is over, I will show you the proof of my claims. But even so, know that I still mourn him. Greatly.” She blinked several times. Her eyes were a bit too bright, as if watering with tears. “I do not want to lose you as well.”

Two dobashes left.

Lotor’s breath hitched, his voice raw. “I very much look forward to your explanations, Princess of Altea.” His syntax grew stilted and overly formal. “Until then, I must prepare for this battle. As should you.”

“Two dobashes, guys,” Hunk whined. “So our plan—fight them off, try to get Lotor back on the throne to stop the fight?”

“That’s the plan.” Keith’s voice was tense. “Everybody, let’s get to our lions. Shiro, can you manage the rebel army while we focus on heading off the main command ships?”

Shiro nodded, but his face carried an odd tension as he looked up to the sky. “I’ll do everything I can to support.”

“Okay, alright guys. Let’s do this.”  

It was then that Lotor turned away in a flash of his white hair, his Olkari robes fluttering in the increasing wind.

Allura stepped forward. “Wait!” she called to him, shamed by his still too-thin body. “You have no armor. And you have so little energy.” She reached out to him with glowing fingers. “Take my strength so that you will live.”

His eyes flickered to her, measuring the genuineness of her concern. The steel he felt against her softened, as if a great fire were melting the metal. He turned away before his face could break. “No,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion, but not unkind. His eyes darkened with determination as he stepped into the dark forests, his interface crown glimmering. “I am strong enough now to retrieve such from other sources. Save your strength for your own battles, princess. I will communicate with your team once I am prepared.”

And then the fallen prince of the Galran empire disappeared between the trees, into the darkness of forest.

Allura watched his shadow fade out.

“…So be it,” she whispered shakily.

It took everything she had to turn around and begin jogging to her lion, along with the rest of her team. Her heart pounded as she tuned into the various babbles of her team members coming over their frequency.

“—track him?” Shiro was asking.

Pidge’s voice was stressed as Allura tuned in. Between the threat on Earth, and Olkarion, and Lotor’s lashing out against the team, the girl had become a bit overwhelmed. “Um—yeah,” she said shakily to Shiro through her frequency as she began to climb into her lion. “I’ve got a way to track Lotor’s movements and keep you updated.”

“Okay, good.” Shiro was racing to a screen interface located at the entrance of the rebel army’s airfield, where various fighter ships thrummed with great power, ready for takeoff at his command. “Captain Olia, do you copy?”

“ _Loud and clear, Commander_.” The term was an affectionate one, for Shiro had never been officially given such a title. All gave it to him regardless. “ _Ready for lift-off on your mark_.”

Shiro slid before the screen interface, opening it with his Olkari arm and planting the bionic fingers on the reading pad. “I’ve got something I’d like to say to the Galra first.” He punched in the frequency for the main Galran ships. And then, with a connection established, Shiro’s voice rang into the skies and in the hulls of every Galran ship.

The man announced, his voice rising in passion, “To Empress Pro Tem: Voltron and the liberated citizens of the Coalition reject your demands. We will not turn over any weapon to a hostile empire. We will not bow to a regime of oppression. And we will not take responsibility for your own crimes against innocent life.” His face twisted with hard determination. “If you don’t end this battle now, then _we will_.” He slammed his metal fist down to end the transmission.

That did it.

Suddenly, the dark skies lit with incoming Galran fighter jets—and before them, the fully transformed Voltron, gleaming in the moonlight as it swung its sword up into a defensive position.

Shiro pushed his communicator, his blood heating with the adrenaline of battle. “Squadrons Alpha and Beta, proceed with launch. Provide aerial support for Voltron and shoot down anything it doesn’t. Gamma squadron, capture any small Galran ships we can use to re-infiltrate their command. Omega squadron—ground support. What makes it past the main fleet, you blast it before it hits Olkarion. Copy?”

“ _You got it, Commander_!”

“ _Yes, sir_!”

And then the earth of Olkarion lit hot with the thrusters of a hundred ships, rumbling the ground and the trees.

Shiro turned. “Ryner, shields up. Keith, can you hear me?”

Above him, a golden particle barrier began to sweep over the headquarters and the vast streets and alleys of the city behind it.

“ _Shields are at 100 percent_ ,” Ryner responded. “ _Cannons charged, militias have orders to fire at will_.” And suddenly the ground pulsed again with a great light from out the top of the headquarters—the cannon fired out, striking a distant Galran ship to scramble their own barrier codes.

Another voice crackled in over the shared frequency. “ _This is Keith_ —” His voice was strained with the sound of heavy, metallic clashing. “ _Getting hit hard at 20,000 feet, but we’re holding our own. We’re acting as a decoy to draw off main ships from the others._ ” The sound of Hunk’s cannon crackled through the frequency. “ _But some hits are gonna get through._ ”

Already, the golden particle barrier above his head began to starburst with the muffled sound of a deflected blast from an ion cannon.

“Copy that, Keith. Keep it up.” Shiro blinked, his military mind expanding with the chessboard he envisioned. “Coran? Are you still on this frequency?”

“ _As a matter of fact, yes! I don’t suppose this is a good time to say that, if nothing else, I still have your comb in my pocket and might need to use it for_ —”

“—Forget that,” Shiro deadpanned. “I know the Olkari have lowered the Galran ship we took into their underground safe zone. But can you turn on any of its systems and see if you can connect to the main fleet?” His mind raced. “You might be able to play some tricks with their tech, since it’s a command ship. Anything to delay or confuse fleet movements.”

Coran paused for a moment. “ _Tricks_?” Shiro could almost see the way the Altean was pulling on his mustache in thought. “ _Hmm. I can think of a few nasty ones worth trying, yes_.”

“Good. Get nasty.” Shiro paused. “But don’t lose my comb.”

“ _Oh, I would never do that. It’s quite the bad luck to lose a trusty comb. Why my Pop-Pop used to say that a man was nothing without_ —”

“—That’s great, Coran. Just tell me when you get down there.”

* * *

 

On the other side of the universe, in the Milky Way Galaxy, a swarm of SR-71s and first-gen MFE Fighters stormed the sky, spinning to deflect the laser blasts directed at evacuated cities. Some of the roads and bridges were still swarming with innocent civilians, desperately attempting to head for the underground shelters left over from World War III.

The cities were rife with panic.

Meanwhile on the ground before the Galaxy Garrison, four teenagers sat in their MFE-Fighters. One of them, a boy, sat in silence, eyes closed.

This was it.

Time to perform.

A teasing, female voice seeped over the frequency. “Don’t tell me you’re already falling asleep, Griffin.”

The boy’s pale, handsome face twitched. “Come on, you know I’m grounding here. We can’t afford to screw this up. I’m…getting into the moment.”

“I know, isn’t it great?” The girl patted her controls, then reached up to swipe back some of her braids. She fitted her helmet over her head. “We’re finally like the Voltron team. They’re out there, fighting on some alien planet, but now we don’t have to go anywhere. We just stay in our own orbit. Get the same kind of rush.”

Over their frequency came another voice, male. “Rizavi, you got problems.”

“What? Between the two of us, Kinkade, which one spends most of his time on a silly yeast experiment?”

The boy huffed. “It’s not silly.” The strain in his voice suggested the slightest hint of fear that he was seeking to cover. “I’m supposed to take measurements in six hours. I’m hoping we get back before then.”

“Oh man,” said Rizavi, her dark face stretching as she buckled in. “We better. I’m so gonna be hungry in like, three hours.”  

A fourth voice dropped in then—a light and somewhat stiff, female voice. “You have six cartons of raisins in the emergency hold to the right of your harness. I placed them there in anticipation that you would complain about being hungry.”

“…Thank you, Leifsdottir.”

“You are most welcome.”

Before the fighters, a large man stood in a Galaxy Garrison uniform. “ _Okay, cadets, rein it in_.” He adjusted the headset over his ears. The chaos of the fire fight in the distance of the main city remained a constant “ _You’ve each got ten satellites to deploy and manually activate. Your mission is to get all of them up and running beneath the noses of the Galra. No theatrics, understand? Power up stealth mode. Do not engage the enemy unless you absolutely have to. Retreat behind the IGF-Atlas if you start taking on fire_.”

“Copy that, Commander Iverson,” said James Griffin. “No theatrics. Rizavi, did you hear that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. She pouted and then added in a mutter, “Just when I was thinking we’d have some fun.”

Veronica’s voice cut in. “ _Okay, guys. We need to get this particle barrier up. Commander Iverson, on your mark_.”

The commander nodded. “ _Cadets, activate interlock_.”

“Dynotherms connected,” Griffin confirmed.

Rizavi flipped a switch. “Megathrusters are go.”

And then the ceiling of the Galaxy Garrison began to retract, and the four MFE Fighter ships glimmered into invisibility, lifting up into the aerial fight above.  

Deep within central command, Sam Holt pushed the button to connect to Shiro. “This is Sam Holt, confirming the _IGF-Atlas_ and MFE Fighters are deployed. We’re sustaining heavy fire but are so far clear to begin setting up a global particle barrier. Our SR-71s and first-gen MFEs are successfully deflecting attacks from our civilian populations, using mounted fusion cannons. We have confirmed an eighty-percent evacuation of civilians into the safe zones.”

“That’s good news.” Shiro paused, his voice straining. Likely, he knew that Adam was piloting one of those first-gen MFEs, which were known for being a bit less efficient than the second-gens, despite Allura’s tinkering with them. “Keep me updated on their progress.”

“We might lose connection with you if our communication network gets hit,” Sam said haltingly. “In the event, please…get here as soon as you can.”

“Absolutely. But with any luck, we might be able to take out both armies at once.”

“What do you mean?”

Shiro’s voice strained farther. “Do you remember my report on the…uh, unstable Lotor we found in a harvester?”

“Yes.”

“He’s agreed to fight for command of the Galran armies and call for a cease fire.”  

“…Wait, _what?”_

* * *

 

The air of Olkarion burned with the smell of fire. The pure air and picturesque trees and valleys darkened into a haunt of black smoke.

Nearby, a rebel fighter jet crashed into gold barrier, spiraling off to crash into the dirt in flames.

One wraith-like Lotor stood in the midst of a valley with a great, flowing river, his brow beading with sweat. In his emaciated hand, he held the button that once hung on the front of his tunic. He’d crushed it at the realization that he, with his enhancing senses, felt a field from it. The destruction revealed an ultra-low-frequency radio tracker—a thin, elegant circuit the size of a small coin.

His lips pressed together tightly as he stared at it, recognizing Pidge’s handiwork. “You sneak,” he murmured, almost fondly. He crushed the tracker in his hand, the circuit clicking in a whirl of static between his fingers. “But you will interfere with my ability to board the command ship.” 

He felt a hesitance now at the thought of the paladins—of Princess Allura—

Perhaps the tracker had never even been for his safety, but to control him and limit his movements.

Lotor set down his blaster and kneeled down on the bank of the river, his haggard face tightening as he closed his eyes. “I will not be controlled by anyone.” And then his long, skeletal fingers began to glow purple.  

After a tick or two, the grass around him began to brown, and then it wilted and died, the quintessence of the plants seeping up through his quivering fingers. The circle of death around him began to creep outward as he inhaled deeply, his body strengthening. As the circle expanded, a few odd blades of grass remained untouched, his powers somewhat sloppy and unrefined. Fish began to float belly up in the river, the flow of water slowing.

By the time he opened his eyes, the death spanned the entire field, catching several great trees. They now hung with death, black and charred as if by fire, save for the odd limbs or two with still-green leaves. The river ran silent, flashing with the bellies of many dead creatures.

The prince’s lips tightened together at the sight, even as his vision sharpened and the last of the harvesting scars upon his face faded into a healthy lavender, as if they had never existed. His body still bore the signs of great malnutrition and starvation, but his bones and sinew held strong with the quintessence of Olkarion.

“I am sorry,” he said to the planet. His voice was smooth, save for the odd hitch of emotion. “I could not owe Princess Allura another debt. And I need your strength.”  

.

_“Your manner of righteousness,” Haggar declared in irritation, sparking her fingers purple, “has no foundation. You are a parasite to all. But I will change this.”_

_._

His heart flared with an emotion he could not name as he slammed his claws into the dirt, forcing himself to stand, grabbing onto his blaster. His Olkari clothing was now stained with mud and dirt and grass, clinging to him from his sweat.

His hair hung in his eyes, the ends swaying with the scent of Lance’s shampoo. “This had to be done.”

The prince lifted his unscarred face to the many moons that shined light upon Olkarion, the starlight glimmering off his smoothed cheeks. And yet he felt deep shame, the purple glow of his fingertips fading away until he stood as only a shadow in the night, accused by the unholy crunch of dead grass beneath his feet.

He could feel the planet’s pain.

.

_“Our experiments have been successful,” murmured the witch, her pupil-less eyes staring down at his collapsed form. “The Komar is complete. You are no longer of use to me.”_

.

“Forgive me,” he whispered roughly to Olkarion, “for what I am.”

The dark ring around his blue irises had begun to glow purple with the excess amount he had siphoned from the planet. He stood in the scar he had created, his bangs brushing against the metal of the Olkari interface gracing his forehead.

“ _My son_ —”

“ _My son_ —”

Lotor’s form blurred into the darkness of the nearby forest, fluid with a grace afforded by the planet’s sacrifice. His alien eyes hardened. “I will save your people from the witch,” he declared unsteadily. His voice broke as he forced himself to push harder, to run faster. “And we will not die as slaves to anyone. We will thrive instead. I offer you this in return.”

As he ran, he held out his hand and unleashed a great pulse of quintessence, the vibrations stretching out across the vast plane. He felt the grass and the ground once more, and the Tree of Life with the three silent graves. This time, he pushed beyond them. He felt each fallen ship, crashing into the ground or atop the particle barrier. None of them were capable of flight with their damage.

He needed a better option.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes as he leaned his palm against a still-living, great tree, the green of his Olkari interface lighting up. One of the branches crackled and lowered down, snapping off into an elegant, metal device.

It was a communicator. He wrapped it around his elfin ear. “Paladin Shiro,” he called into it.

“ _Lotor_.” The retired paladin’s voice lifted with relief. “ _Was wondering when you’d check in_.”

He paused for a moment. “I have…obtained the resources necessary to protect myself, and I need a ship,” he said roughly. “None of the fallen cruisers are still capable of flight.” He planted his hands against the tree again, asking for just a little more. The branches slipped around him, reconfiguring into smooth, armored plates and flexible, protective fabric.

 _Just a little more_ , he begged Olkarion.

“ _Our Gamma team is currently flagging down a fighter jet for you. They’re trying not to crash this one_.”

His purple hands slid down the bark of the tree as the glow around his body died away, into the sharp glimmer of blue, orange, and gray armor—every detail as he remembered. For the first time in 9,000 years, the true Prince Lotor stood in a semblance of his old armor. Protected. Whole.

It hid the thinness of his body and bolstered his skeletal chest, his shadow imposing against the bursts of light above.  

His eyes watered as he patted a vambrace as if it were an old friend. His breath hitched. “Copy that.”

“ _Are you connected into Voltron’s frequency? I’m reading you as on a separate line._ ”

Lotor lifted his gaze to the heavens, where the mighty Voltron was charging through a large battleship, slicing it in half, and his heart pulled hard unexpectedly. He recalled a memory of Allura brushing his hair, stroking his temple and murmuring soft words of comfort. He thought of Pidge excitedly showing him the Olkari interface and her own designs. Hunk’s cooking and merry company. Keith holding him up in the middle of a panic attack. Lance sliding a glass of milk to him. Shiro offering him music.

These strange allies, he thought, had killed his copy.

Then they had recalled his true self to life and were now fighting to preserve innocent lives against the Galran army.

Not quite the actions of political masterminds, given that this Emperor Lotor had already been their ally.

He spoke suddenly into the private frequency with Shiro. “I will remain separate for now. And I will continue to measure Voltron’s actions with great interest, to determine the value of an ongoing alliance after this battle.” His voice strained. “But I will ask one favor of you, Paladin Shiro. If you believe your team has nothing ill to hide from me, patch in a one-way, encrypted line, so that I may listen to them undetected. I wish to know who they are when I am not present.”  

Shiro fell silent for a time.

“ _You know what, why not_ ,” said the retired black paladin, breathing out a sigh. “ _You got it. But be prepared_.” There were various clicks from his side of the frequency. “ _Hunk vomits in barrel rolls, Lance makes bad jokes, Pidge curses sometimes, and Allura occasionally flirts with technology to make it work._ ”

“…Duly noted.” He hesitated at the inanity of Shiro’s list, wondering if it were some form of human humor. “Should I anticipate any strange behavior from Paladin Keith?”

Shiro hummed. “ _No, he’s just sarcastic and sleep-deprived most of the time_.”

Lotor’s voice was nearly hoarse in disbelief. “And these are the descriptions you bestow on the paladins of Voltron in battle? At their best?”   

“ _Yep_.”

The prince made a noise in the back of his throat, his brow furrowing. “By the stars,” he breathed. “How exactly did my copy sin against them? Did he steal out of someone’s _lunchbox_?”

* * *

 

On a command ship fortified behind the main, one Commander Sendak walked into the throne room, the ship’s windows lit with the flames and glow of many weapons.

The great Galran bowed at the foot of the throne, his redesigned arm glimmering black with the power of the witch. “Empress Pro Tem. The Voltron Coalition continues to defy us with great force, and we are beginning to lose squadrons. I recommend we employ our new Zaiforge cannon immediately to tear down their particle barrier and begin the next phase of the assault.”

Honerva sat upon the throne of her husband and son and the 33 emperors before them, her spiked crown glimmering in the light and white and gray Altean robes slipping against the metal. Her dark fingers tightened upon the armrest as her thin lips pressed together. “The Zaiforge cannon is quite destructive, commander. I desire that you end Voltron and this puppet of my son, but a direct hit from such will obliterate them entirely. If you use the cannon, then ensure you strike nonessential targets.”

“Does that not conflict with your objective, Empress?”

Her monotone voice raised in irritation. “I require the ore of the Voltron ships and the puppet for…experimental purposes.”

“Then you desire that I capture them for you.”

“Yes, commander.” Her gold eyes stared out at the large window, watching the fires of Olkarion rise higher. “But I need only one Voltron lion—I do not care for the others.” She tilted her head, tapping her fingers on the armrest. “Bring me the black lion, and destroy the rest.”

“Yes, Empress.”

“As for the puppet who bears my son’s image...” Her gaze hardened, her dead heart tightening at the memory of his words.

Of her birth son’s rejection.

“ _You deceive only yourself, witch. No one would desire the title as your son. I can sense the darkness in you. I know what you are. I will always know._ ”

Her fingers slid along her lower abdomen, where she had fuzzy memories of being swollen with child. She remembered such happiness with her beloved, reaching up in delight to stroke the strong edge of Zarkon’s jaw—watching him close his eyes and lean into her touch—

She recalled feeling whole and protective of the little soul growing inside her, who occasionally kicked at the sound of his father’s voice and the hum of Altean lullabies. The awe and ecstasy of his conception.

Such joy.

Her fingers twisted into the golden chain of her tunic, which rested across where doctors had slit her open to deliver a crying infant.  

The woman’s face twitched. “…I require only his body—I do not need him alive.” A wild darkness seared the gold of her eyes into irritation. “Do with him what you will, so long as you return viable remains to me.”

Sendak’s eyes glimmered, his Galran instincts for the hunt of prey rising in his blood. “Yes, Empress. I will personally deliver his body to you.” He clapped his arm to his chest. “Vrepit sa.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! With VLD now officially over, I want to thank those who continue to support and create within the fandom. You all are the best! I hope that we can continue enjoying all these great characters and worlds for a long time. 
> 
> Apologies for the extended hiatus on this story! I’ve spent since the end of the series thinking about where I ultimately want to go with Second Law. The series finale gave me a lot to noodle on as I created a story outline, so you’ll continue to see certain s7 and s8 elements as we go forward. Of course, I am always open to hearing requests as well. I hope you enjoy this ongoing fix-it fic!
> 
> Please review with your thoughts, ideas, and questions! Thanks for reading.


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